


Thistle and Stone

by dulcedinem



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drarry, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Fluff, HP femslash, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Pansmione - Freeform, a lil twist on an old classic soul bond, also all your otps doing their best, linny - Freeform, pls be kind i am soft, we all know the drill at this point i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-02-18 01:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 83,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21519676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dulcedinem/pseuds/dulcedinem
Summary: Hermione is asked to give her opinion on a mysterious collection of dark items found by the Department of Mysteries. Croaker's there, Harry's there, Pansy's there, what could go wrong?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 361
Kudos: 847





	1. Runes

**Ministry of Magic, 2006**

“Hermione,” Harry grinned, pulling her into a quick embrace. 

“Thanks again for coming in, I know you’ve been busy.”

Hermione smiled and returned Harry’s embrace, glad for the excuse to meet with him. She had been cooped up at home for weeks writing, so the chance to visit the Ministry was a welcome distraction. 

“Office is looking nice, Harry,” she mused, settling herself into the chair opposite the large oak desk that took up the centre of the room. Harry shrugged sheepishly, gesturing towards the rich curtains and coordinated dark colours of the space.

“I had a little help setting up, you see.”

“Unsurprisingly,” Hermione laughed, already knowing Draco had his hand in this. Harry had been seeing Draco for three years now, ever since they had worked together as Aurors. While Draco had moved to another arm of the DMLE soon after, Harry had continued, finally being appointed to the head of the DMLE. 

“You’re looking awfully official as well," she teased, now that he was out of his Auror uniform and in official Ministry robes. Harry rolled his eyes and sat himself down opposite from her. 

“You’ve been alright though, Hermione? Not working too hard?”

Hermione brushed off his concern, eager to find out why he had asked her to come in. 

“Just the usual, Harry. The first stages of research are always the hardest. I’m excited about this one though, I think you’re going to like it.” Hermione tucked a loose curl behind her head and stopped herself from launching into a monologue about the latest book she was working on. While her updated edition of _Hogwarts: A History_ had gained her literary recognition in the Wizarding community, and her second book on the rights of magical creatures had been her passion project, her new interest in magical objects had sent her down numerous research rabbit holes that she was hoping to turn into something substantial.

“That’s actually why I called you in. I was approached by Saul Croaker—”

“The head of the Department of Mysteries?” Hermione interjected. 

“Right,” Harry continued, “and he asked if I would initiate a meeting between a number of his staff, myself, and you, actually.”

“Croaker wanted a meeting…between, I’m sorry, his Unspeakables and me?” Hermione looked at Harry incredulously, caught off guard.

“I know,” Harry rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm, tired, “it seemed odd to me as well. But it appears they’ve come into possession of an item they’re struggling to identify. Croaker caught wind of your research on magical items and asked if I could get you in to meet with him.”

“Alright,” Hermione sighed and leaned back in her chair, “they’ve caught my attention, at least. Is this sort of thing common? Bringing in outside consultants?”

Harry shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of, but I don’t think it’s unheard of.”

“When does he want this meeting to take place, then? I can probably come in sometime the end of the week.” Hermione dug in her bag and pulled out her small leather notebook, filled with her daily scribblings.

“That’s the thing, he asked me this morning. And he wants the meeting in…ten minutes.” Harry checked the ticking clock fixed against his wall, doing his best to look apologetic.

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking me,” Hermione groaned. “Harry, warn me next time, alright? I’ve barely managed to put trousers on today.”

“Er, next time, promise. Honestly though, Hermione, I’ve been busy enough without Croaker sending memos every ten minutes asking for updates on when you were coming in. Seems important to him.” Harry stood and Hermione rose uncertainly as well, throwing her bag over her shoulder.

Moments later, they were seated in one the DMLE’s conference rooms. Charmed windows lined the walls, all depicting various scenes of Muggle London. The charmed windows always set Hermione a little on edge, knowing they were underground but appearing like they were stories above the street.

Harry tapped his fingers impatiently against the table while Hermione worried the edge of her jumper, excited for what Croaker might have for her but equally anxious to get home and back to her research.

“Mr. Potter! Ms. Granger! So sorry to keep you waiting.” Croaker burst through the closed doors, his dark robes curling behind him as he walked. His head of unruly greying curls bounced as he walked.

Hermione stood and smoothed down her jumper, offering her hand.

“Unspeakable Croaker, it’s lovely to meet you.” 

Croaker enclosed his hand over hers, patting it affectionately and gesturing for her to sit.

“Yes, of course, so good of you to come, my dear. I’ve been meaning to pick your brain for quite some time now.”

Hermione laughed politely and sent Harry a glance, vaguely uncomfortable with the sense of familiarity that Croaker was bestowing on her. She wasn’t quite sure who to expect, never having met the man before, but the stories she had heard painted him as quite a formidable man. Harry caught her glance and shrugged slightly in return, moving to shake Croaker’s hand, trading a few pleasantries between them. 

“Niceties aside,” Croaker grinned, “I have a few things I’d like you to look over, Ms. Granger. Your opinion could prove most useful.”

“Of course, Unspeakable Croaker, I’d be happy to. Before we begin, I hope you’ll forgive my asking this, but is Harry’s role here anything beyond a mediator? I know he’s settling into his new role and don’t want to take up too much of his time if this is something you and I can discuss.” Hermione kept her tone light, not wanting to offend but also realizing Harry might want his afternoon back.

“Ah. That’s the thing, Ms. Granger. The items I hope to discuss are…how to put this delicately? Quite dark, you see. Let me give you a brief overview before bringing them in. An Unspeakable on another directive came across these items while travelling and suspected they hosted a great deal of dark magic. We’ve run a number of tests on the items and found them rather unstable, the magic, that is. It seems almost volatile. Our department has, of course, done some preliminary research into the items and we think we have a basic grasp on what they are. But their purpose, their intent, we’re unsure of. Here, let me bring them in.” Croaker lifted his wand—a curved, gnarled looking thing—and sent a spurt of light through the doors. Moments later, two Unspeakables pushed through the doors, each carrying a nondescript plain leather box. 

Hermione’s eyes immediately fell to the boxes, feeling a little jolt of excitement run up her spine. 

“Ms. Granger, this is Unspeakable Nott and Unspeakable Parkinson. They’ve been working closely with me on this case.” Croaker waved them closer, and Hermione glanced up at the introduction.

Oh.

Her throat went dry as Pansy Parkinson and Theo Nott nodded in her direction, boxes still in hand. Pansy bloody Parkinson and Theo Nott. Hermione groaned internally, not having seen either of her former classmates in almost eight years. They were both dressed in black Unspeakable robes, tailored tight and form fitting. Theo Nott had changed little since Hogwarts. Still tall, perhaps a little lanky, nondescript dark blonde hair that was pulled carefully from his brow. He smiled tightly at her when she nodded hello. On the other hand, she hardly recognized Pansy Parkinson. She too was tall, almost shoulder to shoulder with Nott. Her thick black hair was chopped so it just skimmed the line of her jaw, like a razor’s edge. It was almost bewildering against her pale features, as if she hadn’t left the dark halls of the Department of Mysteries in months. She looked like she was all hard edges, almost cagey. And she seemed, above all, unequivocally bored.

“We’ve met,” Hermione replied quietly to Croaker’s introduction, and he clapped his hands together.

“Excellent, excellent, lets proceed then, shall we. Nott, Parkinson, if you would?”

They stepped towards the table between Hermione and Croaker, gently setting down the boxes in their hand. Carefully, they lifted the lids, and began a process of unlocking a number of dials that popped open one after the other, finally revealing their contents. Hermione leaned forwards to catch a glimpse of what was in the box Theo had held and stood to gain a better look.

“Snakestones," she murmured, her breath catching. “Ammonites, really, but these…” 

“So you recognize them!” Croaker breathed, leaning over the table. Hermione moved to reach into the box.

“May I?”

“Yes, of course, Ms. Granger. Carefully though, carefully.” Croaker watched her closely as she lowered her hand into the box and gently pulled out a handful of tiny stones.

Harry glanced over her shoulder, looking at the items dubiously. 

“What are those exactly?”

“These,” Hermione smiled, running a finger over the tiny ridges of the stone, “are fossilized molluscs. They’re most commonly attached to the legend of Hilda of Whitby, who was told to have driven over a thousand snakes from attacking her lover, turning them into stone. This was said to take place in the seventh century AD, though their popularity as magical items really flourished in the early medieval period. They were called snakestones.”

“Very good, Ms. Granger. Indeed, snakestones. Here, turn them over. Look here.” Croaker slowly flipped them over as Hermione peered down at the stones on her palm. 

“Runes?” She murmured, glancing between Croaker and the stones. “That’s odd. I’ve never heard of snakestones carrying runes.” 

“Indeed,” he breathed, moving to take the stones one by one from her hand. He laid them softly on the table and reached into the second box, taking out a long foot of parchment. Lambskin, Hermione thought, from the looks of it. The parchment was well-crafted but incredibly old, showing cracks in the thin leather that was faded beyond yellow. Her stomach flipped quickly as she looked at the markings across its page.

“Do you recognize any of these markings, Ms. Granger?”

Hermione centred herself in front of the parchment, fingers ghosting over the faded runes. 

“These are later runes, they’re Scandinavian. The Younger Futhark alphabet, I think. But some of the staves are off, they’ve been altered. They’re remarkably preserved, however.”

Croaker nodded enthusiastically and pointed at the stones.

“And these? We suspect they are much earlier, Elder Futhark.”

“They appear to be.” Hermione nodded, both her and Croaker now bent over the collection of objects while Harry, Theo, and Pansy traded looks behind them. 

“Here,” Hermione tapped at one of the markings, “this one means ‘gift,’ I think, and this one here is ‘serpent,’ and this crossed mark I believe is for ‘partnership,’ beside it is ‘possession,’ I can’t quite make the next few out, but this is ‘wholeness,’ and ‘the self’ is repeated twice beside ‘gateway.’ Fascinating.” 

Croaker hummed in agreeance, following her finger as she passed over the faded inscriptions. 

“But, Ms. Granger, as you’ve pointed out, many of these runes don’t necessarily follow the known alphabets. There are divergents, new markings included, you see. And the items themselves appear quite harmless, but if you hold the stones above the parchment…well, go on, give it a try.”

Hermione tentatively picked up the three stones again, feeling their cool ridges in her palms. She shifted to hold them above the parchment, and immediately felt the weight of magic throbbing from their cores. She could feel her pulse in her ears, the small hairs on the back of her neck prickling, a deep sense of fear suddenly falling around her like a blanket. She rushed to put them down, unconsciously taking a step back.

“What are these, Unspeakable Croaker?” She hissed, unable to shake the shroud of unfamiliar magic that had settled within her. 

“Cursed, we suspect. Ancient magic, ancient curses. Harmless folktale items turned into powerful dark stones. We’re concerned, above all, that there are more of these, and that perhaps they might have fallen in the wrong hands. We think the stones acts like a sort of code for the parchment, a way to decipher it, if you will.” Croaker’s excitement had faded into a weary stare, and he watched the stones with guarded exhaustion. 

Hermione followed his gaze, feeling a strong pull towards the stones, despite her initial reaction of fear. 

“A message," she murmured, gently picking up a single stone in her hand and turning it over. She rubbed the pad of her thumb over the rune, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. 

“This marking, the one that’s irregular, I think it’s a combination of sounds, but they match one of the changed runes on the parchment. Here, I suspect.” She gently laid the stone over the rune on the parchment, so the runes faced each other, and the parchment bristled, as if sparked. She heard Croaker exclaim in surprise, and a soft gasp from behind her. 

“And this one, I think, here.” She felt pulled to continue, as if directed. She moved the second stone. The parchment sparked again, as if the combining magic was reacting against itself. She picked up the third stone and an increasing weight crushed against her chest. She steadied her breathing, brushing off her reaction as excitement. She studied the rune in her hand and this time her other hand grazed over the parchment itself, looking. 

“Ms. Granger, this is quite remarkable,” Croaker breathed, hovering over her shoulder.

She laid the third stone down smoothly against the parchment, over what she suspected was its matching form. Hermione waited a moment, holding her breath, but nothing happened. She glanced up at Croaker in confusion, unsure what she had suspected. Perhaps she had been wrong, and the stones didn’t match at all with the parchment. She opened her mouth to apologize, when her vision began to blur at the edges, black spots appearing as she threw her hands out to steady herself. 

“Harry…” she called, her voice sounding muddled and echoing in her head. Suddenly, the ground rushed towards her, darkness catching her first.


	2. Possession

Dark figures, hovering above her. Hermione blinked as images of Harry swam before her view. 

“There we are, there we are,” Harry murmured, gently lifting Hermione’s head off the floor. 

“Help, please,” she groaned, letting Harry slowly help her into a sitting position. Her head was pounding in her ears, the pain intense. It felt doubled, thudding against her temple like a moth throwing itself against glass. 

She felt Croaker’s hand rest quietly on her shoulder, his eyes peering down at her. He and Harry exchanged bewildered glances. 

“Alright, dear?” 

Hermione raised her hand to press at the side of her forehead where it had taken the most impact. 

“Yes, I think I’m—”

“Sir.” Theo Nott’s clear voice—edged with anxiety—filled the room, cutting off Hermione’s reply. 

Croaker and Harry turned quickly at Nott’s call. Hermione shifted so she could see past Croaker, catching sight of Theo on his knees, cradling Pansy’s head between his hands. Her long limbs were arranged oddly against the floor, like she had merely crumpled where she stood. Her hair spread around her on the tile like a dark fan.

“Dear Merlin,” Croaker breathed, rushing towards Pansy, obscuring Hermione’s view.

“Is anyone else hurt?” Hermione caught hold of Harry’s hand, using it to pull herself upwards. Harry looked disoriented but shook his head.

“No, no, I’m fine. I think everyone else is fine.” 

Hermione clambered to her feet, dusting off her jumper and trying to refocus her eyes. She watched as Theo and Croaker gently helped Pansy to her feet as well, pulling out a chair and setting her down slowly. 

Croaker turned to the gathered group, his face pale. 

“Very dark magic indeed. Ms. Granger, I think you’ve managed to unlock something rather unpleasant. Nott, see if anyone else has been affected by this, please.”

Theo nodded, his hands resting on Pansy’s shoulders. Elbow on the table, Pansy held her head against her palm.

“What in the bloody _hell_ ,” she hissed, her eyelids pressed tightly closed.

“Indeed,” Croaker sighed and gestured towards the chair beside Pansy, “Ms. Granger, if you please, you should sit. We’re yet unsure of what you’ve just managed to uncover.”

Hermione did as he asked, waving off Harry when he reached out to steady her. The parchment and stones were still on the table, unremarkable but for a faint glow around the edges of each stone. Reaching out, Hermione pushed them off the parchment, watching as the stones faded and settled against the wood of the table. Theo ducked back into the room a moment later.

“Nothing, sir. No reports of anything unusual. It seems the damage was contained to this room.”

“Good, good.” Croaker muttered and gazed down at the two seated women before him.

“Ms. Parkinson, Ms. Granger, how are you both feeling? Any lasting effects?”

“Wicked headache,” Pansy said, her voice gravelly. 

Hermione nodded in agreeance, her thoughts feeling scattered. She could feel her pain, without a doubt, but any attempt to centre it sent her mind reeling. Trying to hold down her thoughts felt like grasping at water. 

“Just disoriented,” Hermione noted, her breath uneven. She pushed her hair back from her face, damp at its roots where beads of sweat had gathered. She tucked her thick curls behind her ears in an attempt to calm herself. Panic was beginning to creep in. She couldn’t focus. 

“Entirely confused.” Pansy virtually groaned her reply.

Anxiety rose like bile up from Hermione’s throat. Something was happening. Her magic felt untethered, as if it had been cut free from herself. The usual warm pulsing that she felt at her magical core now felt frantic, like it was reaching out wildly for the cause of its disturbance. She felt something else too. Something like jolts of static rubbing against her, something angry, something irritated. Her fingers felt for the sore spot on her temple again and pressed hard. The ache that had settled there grew, filling her and threating to split her open. She gritted her teeth. 

She could feel her teeth grind against one another painfully and tried to direct her mind to that feeling. But it was still there. She could feel it. Something foreign that had settled along the edges of her mind, that reached out to her magical core, wanting. 

“Hermione?” Harry’s voice filled her ears, riddled with concern. 

Hermione’s lips pursed in an attempt to reply but her throat was horribly dry. She couldn’t focus enough to form the words. She felt like she was being pulled taut, stretched against herself.

“Unspeakable Croaker, what is this,” Harry hissed, watching in dread as both Pansy and Hermione slipped further away from them. Hermione could hear their voices but it sounded like they were above water, only catching murmurs of their words.

“Harry,” Hermione’s tongue was thick in her mouth, clumsy. “Harry,” she tried again, desperate now. She wanted him to shake her, violently, until she could breathe again. Until the ache went away. 

“I don’t—I’m not sure, I haven’t seen this in—I never thought.” Croaker tripped over his words, his eyes darting from Theo to Harry. 

Quickly, he reached down and grasped Hermione’s wrist and pulled it from her temple, ignoring her recoil. She thought he was standing above her, reaching down and enclosing his hand around hers. _Please_. Hermione wanted him to pull her up, to pull her out of the water. Instead, he mirrored his actions on Pansy, who Hermione hadn’t been able to look at, lost in the ache, the confusion. 

Croaker pushed their hands together, their fingers grasping as they met. 

_Relief._ Coolness washed over her, and Hermione choked out her breath, tightening her grip. She groaned, the noise bubbling from her lips. The ache lightened, a dull twinge instead of a storm against her chest. Her head fell back as she gulped in air.

“Gods.” She heard Harry’s voice closer to her now, hovering. 

She wanted to reassure him, tell him she was alright. Waves of relief continue to pour through her as her chest rose and fell heavily. This was all that mattered. This _feeling_ , close to elation, like bliss. She gripped the hand clutching hers and shivered against the touch, soft but firm. She wanted to submerge herself in this feeling, to slip beneath the surface this time and bathe in the quietness that had descended upon her. 

“Ms. Parkinson, Ms. Granger, please.”

Croaker’s voice grated against her ears, and Hermione cracked an eye open in response. 

“Look, _please_ , look.”

Despite trying to block him out, the note of dread that coated his words sent a jolt down her spine. Her head snapped back up, and her gaze followed Croaker’s, falling on her entwined hand.

Glowing, softly. Glowing like the edges of the snakestones had, their ridges catching the light. And Pansy’s hand, too, emitting a faint warmth. Her eyes shot up, meeting Pansy’s for the first time. Pools of dark green mirrored her own emotions, caught between fear, fascination, utter terror. She couldn’t look away.

-

The glowing, thankfully, had stopped. Hermione had uncertainly pulled her hand away, leaving Pansy’s palm open against the table, empty. Her fingers curled up into the empty air, searching. It felt almost painful to do so, like she was ripping away a small part of herself, but she had regained most of her sanity by then. And clutching onto the hand of Pansy Parkinson was not the sanest thing she had done in a while.

Slowly, she turned towards Croaker. Harry and Theo stood beside him, the colour drained from their faces. 

“Explain,” she whispered, worried that if she spoke any louder, she’d crack.

Croaker had paled beyond recognition, the soft jowls around his lower jaw moving subtly as he opened his mouth and closed it repeatedly. 

“Ms. Granger, I don’t—I’m not sure—I suspect—”

“It’s a bond.” Pansy’s voice cut through his muttering. “Whatever it is, you’ve uncovered some sort of bond.” Her eyes were trained on Hermione, unreadable. Hermione pushed down the shudder that threatened to overtake her, forcing herself to remain still. 

“There’s no such thing as bonds," she breathed, challenging Pansy’s assumption. 

“Tell that to your bloody _glowing_ hand,” Pansy shot back, eyes narrowed. 

Hermione flinched, feeling a pulse of anger work through her. Not her own anger, but Pansy’s. 

“What’re you doing?” Hermione demanded. Her voice quivered.

“What am _I_ doing?” Pansy seethed, _“You_ unleashed this, whatever you did with the snakestones.” Her open palm had curled into a fist, her nails digging half-moons into the heel of her palm. 

“And _you_ lot asked me to come in!” Hermione stood, trembling with her own anger now, feeling it mix with Pansy’s that continued to wash over her. She felt like she could barely come up for air, overwhelmed by the influx of emotions that she struggled to differentiate between.

Pansy stood as well, towering over Hermione. They were close now, unable to back down. Hermione glared up at her. She felt trapped under Pansy’s gaze, pinned to the spot. She could feel the edges of Pansy’s robes brushing against her knees, the front of her thighs, the fabric rough and prickling with protective spells.

A hand jutted between them, Harry gently pulling Hermione back. Pansy’s lips were twisted into a snarl. She looked caged, ready to lash out.

“Ms. Granger, Ms. Parkinson, please,” Croaker pleaded. His voice seemed to shake Pansy from her stance. Her chest rose and fell unsteadily, her hand pressing hard against the flat of the table. 

“What in Merlin’s name is going on?” Hermione turned on Croaker, demanding. 

“I think it’s best if we all sit. Yes, you too Harry, please.”

-

An awoken soul tie. Likely. No way to be sure, just yet. A curse though, undoubtedly. 

Hermione played Croaker’s words over and over in her head until they melded together, utterly meaningless. They were still in the conference room; Pansy, Croaker, and Theo seated across from her, Harry on her right. Theo was stone-faced, occasionally glancing at Pansy to see if she was alright. Pansy trained her gaze on Croaker, refusing to look at Hermione, as he stumbled through his explanation of what he suspected had happened.

Harry grasped her hand under the table, squeezing it for support. She gripped back, but his skin felt itchy against hers. She could feel sweat gathering at the centre of her palm and ignored it, pushing down the irritation that seemed to lick against her skin. Every few seconds, Hermione could sense Pansy’s gaze flicker towards where her and Harry’s hand joined under the table. A look of distaste settled along her brow, her annoyance clear.

“So you see, Ms. Granger, we hadn’t even the faintest notion that the parchment could be holding something of this nature. We suspected perhaps it served as a warning, a prophecy of sorts, likely of destruction.”

Hermione was shaken back to attention by Croaker, and she nodded uncertainly. 

“Unspeakable Croaker,” Harry spoke up, “are you saying that you suspected the runes carried within them a sort of curse of death, and then asked Hermione to see if she could piece together that curse?” Harry’s voice was calm, but disbelief was unmistakable in his tone.

“No, no, of course not, Mr. Potter. Most runes, as Ms. Granger knows, don’t release their curse unless intentionally destroyed. Some require a sort of sacrifice, that sort of thing. I merely hoped Ms. Granger could help us decode some of the trickier inscriptions. Certainly, this was most unexpected.” 

Hermione was tempted to laugh, the absurdity of the situation fraying her nerves. 

“But I didn’t destroy it, Unspeakable Croaker, and I certainly didn’t sacrifice anything at its altar,” Hermione reminded him. “And this isn’t even a typical runestone. I’ve never seen snakestones that match with a parchment like this. In my upcoming book, I’ve actually written a few chapters on runestones, and I’ve never come across—”

Hermione stopped, turning incredulously towards Pansy, who had snorted. 

“I’m sorry, _Ms._ Parkinson, is this situation funny to you?” Hermione seethed, her body coursing with little jolts of electricity. 

“On the contrary, _Ms. Granger,_ I’m unsurprised that you’ve managed to both possess a head filled with knowledge, and it all be entirely useless.” Pansy barely looked up as she pretended to inspect her nails, her words punctuated with disdain. 

“Pansy,” Theo hissed, the first words he had spoken since he had returned. His voice was low, clearly a warning. 

“Yes, Ms. Parkinson, you’re being rather unhelpful,” Croaker scolded as he turned back to face Harry and Hermione.

“Here,” he muttered, and gently lifted the parchment from the centre of the table, the stones cast aside. It crackled from his touch before settling against the table. 

“It appears new inscriptions have appeared where the stones lay. Ms. Granger, if you will?” Croaker quietly pushed the parchment towards Hermione. She looked down at it, refusing to touch it. Harry tentatively brought it closer.

“I can’t make it all out,” she bristled. The runes seemed to blur into the next, taunting her. She could feel Pansy’s eyes on her now, boring a hole through the top of her head. 

“I think, this new one, it connects these two runes. ‘Serpent’s gift.’ The branch that’s appeared over here, it runs between ‘possession’ and ‘partnership.’ I’m not sure, I think it roughly translates to ‘possession of old partnership, made whole.’ Or wholeness. The staves don’t usually behave in this way. This one is ‘two selves.’ These latter ones, they’re unusual. I can’t translate them.” Hermione exhaled in frustration, caught between focusing on the markings in front of her and the new and strange emotions she felt pressing against her chest and pushing through her thoughts. Anger, confusion, and most prominently, distaste. The pounding in her head increased in speed, a dull thudding against her ears. 

“Go on, Ms. Granger.” Croaker gently encouraged.

“I can’t make the last lines out. I think—I think stones are missing. Like there’s a second part to this. But these top lines, it’s detailing the curse. The markings for gift blur into the one for curse, like the author couldn’t differentiate the two. So, roughly then: ‘Serpent’s gift/curse, a possession of old partnership made whole. Two selves, tied.’ The rune for tied could also be chained, I’m not sure. The next line is strange, but it looks to be ‘when one self ends, the other self follows.’”

“Very well,” Croaker nodded. Hermione pushed the parchment away from her, revulsion mixing with burning curiosity.

“This is very grave, I’m afraid. Very grave indeed.” Croaker leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh, the pads of his fingers pressing together into a steeple.

“Ms. Granger, rest assured our department will be devoting the greatest care to dealing with this unfortunate situation. I’m sure it’s something we can find an answer to shortly.”

Harry murmured in agreeance, releasing Hermione’s hand with a final squeeze.

“How can our department be of use, Unspeakable Croaker?” 

“I’m not sure, Mr. Potter. I think we need to spend more time with these objects. Perhaps if you could direct some of your department to investigate into their origins. One of our Unspeakables came across these items while in northern Scotland. I can send him down to your department to perhaps see if we can locate the previous owner. In the meantime, Ms. Granger, Ms. Parkinson, I think it’s best if you both return home for the day. We’re yet unsure of the consequences of what has taken place,” Croaker said, turning to Pansy.

“With all due respect, Unspeakable Croaker, I’d like—”

“No, no, Ms. Parkinson, please. I think it’s unsafe for you to remain at work today.”

Pansy gritted her teeth but nodded. Hermione watched her, wide-eyed. The repercussions were still unclear to her, Croaker’s warning of ‘consequences’ looming heavy. She refused to indulge the inkling in the back of her mind, the one sending out messages of alarm. 

Tied. Tied to this hateful woman before her. Panic crept up her spine and she inhaled handfuls of air, her lungs squeezing painfully with each breath. 

“Hermione,” Harry stood and gently directed Hermione to her feet, “Let’s get you home.” 

Hermione allowed herself to be led out the door, leaving Croaker, Parkinson, and Nott still seated at the table. She didn’t look at Pansy on the way out. She didn’t need to. She could feel the resentment radiating off of her. Anger, hard like a kernel, but hiding something beneath it. 

-

Harry pushed the cup of tea towards her. They were back in her home on the outskirts of London. It was nestled between Harry’s on one side and Ginny and Luna’s on the other, a hidden street of small unassuming homes with neat little gardens between them. Luna did most of the tending to them, after scolding Hermione for suggesting they lay down grass when they all first moved in years ago. 

“How’re you feeling?” Harry questioned, soot from the floo still dusting his shoulders.

“Fine,” Hermione lied. She clutched the cup of tea Harry pressed into her hands, the burning against her fingers a welcome distraction.

The headache was back with a vengeance, threatening to swallow her whole.

“Harry, really, I’m fine. You need to get back to the Ministry. You can check on me later or send Ginny over. There’s no point in both of us both sitting here. You’re more of use to me there.”

Harry eyed her, his green eyes narrowed with suspicion. He pushed a few strands of unruly black hairs form his forehead. Exhaustion was evident on his brow. 

“Alright, but only for a few hours. You’ll let me know if you need help though?” 

“Yes, fine,” Hermione agreed, forcing her lips into what she hoped resembled an easy smile. She patted Harry’s hand when he clasped her shoulder, his words of comfort drifting past her. Moments later, he disapparted out of her kitchen with a crack and was gone.

Hermione pushed out the breath she was holding in, her head falling against her kitchen table. The cool wood felt marvellous against her forehead. She felt feverish, her body damp and aching. Her magic was restless. It was reaching out towards something and finding only emptiness. Shaking, she raised her wand to her curtains, trying to close them against the light that filtered in. They sputtered and half-closed, and her breath sped up in fear. Her magic was still there, but she couldn’t grasp it. She hadn’t felt this way since trying to conjure up her Patronus all those years ago. 

Gasping in a breath, she stood, holding her wand as steady as she could. She held it up in front of her. 

_Lumos,_ She murmured, the tip of her wand sparking to light then sizzling back to darkness. Her wand dropped from her hand, clattering against the floor.

Merlin. Dread crushed against her chest and she fell back into her chair, gulping down the burning tea, desperate. She just had to focus. She was just unsettled, tired. 

But the ache was unmistakable. Her skin was hot and prickly, needy. The pain that punctuated every breath was growing and she felt close to splitting apart. She needed relief. She was desperate for it. 

Distantly, she heard a knock on her door. More like someone pounding. She stumbled towards the sound, sure it was Ginny. Fumbling with her lock, she pushed it open. 

Pansy.


	3. Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello! A little POV switch up in this chapter. I've 100% avoided all my responsibilities today to pump out this chapter so I hope you enjoy!

Pansy was leaning against the doorframe heavily, her chest heaving up and down. Her hair looked like it had been run through a number of times with anxious hands. She was still in her Unspeakable robes, which were pulled tight across her stomach. Dark folds of fabric hung from her shoulders, crumbled. 

Hermione, without thinking, moved to touch her. A deep animal need rose in her, shapeless but demanding. She pressed her damp palm against Pansy’s arm.

 _“Don’t,”_ Pansy hissed, wrenching her arm from Hermione’s grasp. 

Hermione let her hand drop to her side as if she had been burned. Shame rose quickly up her throat, choking her. Mercifully, her headache had receded again. No longer a storm, her thoughts settled like a rippling lake around her. The ache that shot down into her magical core now hummed gently.

Pansy seemed to have gathered herself as well. She still looked ragged, but she straightened up and jutted her chin out.

“Going to invite me in?”

Wordlessly, Hermione stepped back, waiting as Pansy strode into her living room. Her high leather boots tracked mud on Hermione’s favourite rug, a soft cream with intricate pastel roses lightly etched into the fabric. She looked down at her rug miserably and the streaks of dirt marring the flowers, shutting the door behind her. 

Pansy stood in the centre of the living room, her arms crossed defensively in front of her. Hermione sensed the distrust and suspicion rolling off of her in waves. Hermione moved to stand a few feet away from her, unsure what to say, the bizarreness of the situation clouding her judgement. 

“Can I take your…coat?” She tried, gesturing towards the heavy robe that looped around Pansy’s neck and fell like a dark blanket behind her. 

“No,” Pansy replied curtly, shaking her head when Hermione pointed at her boots. “The boots stay on.”

“Merlin, fine,” Hermione muttered, turning to settle herself in her favourite armchair. “Going to just stand there then?”

Begrudgingly, Pansy sat opposite of her, on the loveseat that usually hosted Ginny and Luna when they came for tea. Instead of Luna’s soft laugh and Ginny’s wide smile, it was Pansy who scowled back at her. Her sharp features were etched with scorn.

The uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Hermione trained her eyes on the little table between them, scattered with quills and pieces parchment that were filled with her notes and memos for her research. On days she worked from home—which were most, admittedly—this was her favourite spot to curl up with her stack of books and pile of notes, nose buried deep between old and papery-thin pages. She couldn’t help but feel that Pansy’s presence was ruining it in some way, desecrating this sacred space of hers that had served as cocoon for her work. 

-

Pansy watched as Hermione pretended to be occupied with staring at her disorganized display of notes. Pansy took a second to glance around the home, her lips pursed together tightly. It was…quaint. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, hadn’t had the time to imagine what Granger’s home might look like. She hated herself for being here. She felt weak. By the time she had made it home through the floo and brushed Theo off, instructing him to get back to work, the nausea had almost knocked her off her feet. She had undergone endurance trials when she was training to be an Unspeakable, but she had never felt anything like this before. Not even when her and Theo accidentally tampered with a cursed Time-Turner that had resulted with both of them enjoying long stints at St. Mungo’s. 

This was different. She couldn’t be sure, but she could almost articulate what felt like distinct emotions pouring into her, assumingely from Hermione. Where she had expected anger, she felt only uncertainty and fear. It made her hate her even more. This open display of vulnerability, of weakness. Pansy bit down hard on the front of her tongue, enjoying the shock of pain it sent rippling through her body. It focused her, cleared her mind.

Hermione’s head shot up in response. 

“What was that?” Hermione demanded. Her eyes were wide, open pools of auburn with flecks of yellow. Pansy studied her for a second, taking in her bookish demeanour, her slight but full frame, the smattering of freckles that spilled across her nose and cheeks, fading into the tangle of dark curls.

“You felt that?” Pansy questioned her, wary.

“I…I felt something. Like a shock.” Hermione tried to put into words the sharp jab that had pulsed through her. 

Without replying, Pansy reached down and stretched out her palm, using her other hand to dig quick and sharp indents there until prickles of blood bloomed from the marks.

 _“Stop it!”_ Hermione gasped, bent over.

“What did you feel?” Pansy demanded. She felt herself leaning forward, holding her breath.

“Just…pain. It felt sharp.”

“Where did you feel it?” Pansy pressed her, needing to know, needing to see what was going on.

“Everywhere, everywhere.” Hermione shook her head in bewilderment, and Pansy leaned back against the sofa and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“Alright.” She let the air building in her chest escape slowly, trying to bring down her pulse. In a frustrating circle, she could feel Hermione’s surprise and pain mirrored back towards her, as if looped. 

“So, this curse,” she started, her voice tired, “has somehow connected our pain receptors. And, for some bizarre reason, strong emotions.”

_“When one self ends, the other self follows,”_ Hermione murmured, remembering the runes that now stood sharp in her mind. 

Pansy nodded, accepting the truth that she had staved off for as long as possible. Pain, emotion, and likely death. Their futures now tied together messily through unspeakable darkness. 

“So don’t die before we can sort out this absolute mess,” Pansy ground out.

Hermione scoffed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m an author. I work from home. The most danger I’m in here is spilling hot tea on myself. It’s _you_ I’m concerned about. Merlin knows what you do at your job all day, pulling apart dark objects, casually allowing randoms to awaken dark and ancient curses. It’s any wonder I won’t be dead by the end of the week.”

Pansy forcibly stopped herself from lashing out. She had to admit, at least the girl could hold her own. 

“You know as well as I that I can’t discuss my work. Certainly not with you.” Pansy crafted her voice into a vaguely professional tone, hoping to sound emotionless, removed. 

“Yeah, excellent, really smart Parkinson. Until your work literally _cursed_ me on a Monday afternoon. A minute ago, I thought Harry would come back and find me on the floor.” Hermione all but rolled her eyes, huffing as she crossed her arms in front of her body protectively.

“What did you feel, earlier?” Pansy pushed her, choosing to ignore the insult. Her need to know was overwhelming her, driving her forward.

“Earlier?” Hermione paused. “I felt like my head was going to split into two. It felt like I was filled with an ache, this intense pain, but also, incredibly empty. Like something had been ripped from me. My…my magic. I could barely shut my own curtains.” Hermione watched her as she admitted what had happened, her eyes cautious, daring Pansy to mock her for being open.

“And now?” Pansy whispered, terrified of her answer.

Hermione chewed on the edge of her bottom lip, searching. 

“Better, marginally. My head is clearer, I can focus. At least easier than before.”

“Use your magic, try a basic spell,” Pansy instructed, catching the way Hermione recoiled at being directed what to do. But she pulled out her wand and shot a quick spell towards her curtains, which closed tightly with a zip, pulling back open when she flicked at them a second time.

“It’s fine, it feels almost normal. But there’s something tugging against it, it feels heavy.” Hermione looked down at her wand, feeling the weight of it in her palm. Pansy’s mind raced, trying to piece together what this meant.

“Our magic is tied, clearly. I don’t know how, but I think it has to do with proximity. Here, stand up.” Pansy rose to her feet, signalling for Hermione to do the same. 

Cautiously, Hermione stood. Pansy moved towards her, closing the gap between them. She didn’t touch her, but she was close enough to hear Hermione’s soft breathing, her nervous heartbeat, the way her lip quivered, as if defying her attempt to remain stoic. 

“Try another spell,” Pansy breathed, waiting.

Hermione did, the tip of her want lighting up brightly like a spark, extinguishing with a flick.

“Wordless magic,” Pansy mused. She was impressed, though begrudgingly. She had never thought Granger would have been able to master something of that degree.

“Yeah,” Hermione replied defensively, “it’s something I’ve been able to do for quite some time.”

“And wandless?” Pansy guessed.

Hermione shrugged, breaking their eye contact. “Sometimes.” 

“How did it feel this time?”

“Easy.” 

Pansy could see that Hermione hated to admit it, she could sense it. Beneath her own thoughts she felt trickles of defiance that weren’t her own. The dawning realization that their magic might be tied in more complex ways slowly fell between them like lead. 

“Granger, indulge me for a moment. I’m going to walk outside of your home and keep walking, and you tell me when you feel something.” Pansy moved away from Hermione, her hand already on the door.

“Fine, cast a Disillusionment charm first though.” Hermione’s voice was high, and Pansy turned back to her. Her eyebrow shot up. 

“Trying to hide our illicit affair from your neighbours, Granger?” Pansy’s voice was thick with derision, and she could tell Hermione was fighting against the urge to bite back. 

“Just do it.” 

Pansy shrugged and cast the charm, her body quickly blending into the surroundings of Hermione’s living room. The door opened and she slipped through, not checking to see if Hermione was watching.

-

Merlin, she really was unbearable. Hermione slammed her door shut, not bothering to stand at the window and watch Pansy’s changing form stride down the one-way road of her little street. Alright, fine, she could admit the Disillusionment charm was probably unnecessary. Ginny was likely at work, training with the Harpies, and Luna was undoubtedly still hollowed away at the tiny office in Diagon Alley that The Quibbler rented. Ron never dropped by unexpected unless she told him she had leftovers, and her weekly dinners with Harry, Ron, Luna, Ginny, Neville, and sometimes Draco, were always on Wednesdays. 

But still, the thought of another neighbour coming upon the form of Pansy Parkinson, formidable as she strode down the tiny street, her Unspeakable robes stark black against the gentle grey of the sky, it was too much. She didn’t belong here. On Hermione’s quiet street, her haven. She belonged in some shadowy hallway of the Department of Mysteries, skulking around with dark items in hand.

Hermione was jolted out of her internal rant with a swift blow against her chest. Or, what felt like a blow. She could feel the tendrils of her magic getting stretched, ripping and tearing like muscles pulled too far. The ache returned, fierce and unforgiving. 

Wildly, she moved towards the door, throwing it open and darting out into the road. She wasn’t even sure which way Pansy had gone, damn her. She was seconds away from sending out a Patronus, anything, to find her, when she noticed a nearby bush waver, the colour breaking up. The Disillusionment charm fell from Pansy’s form, revealing her pacing back towards Hermione.

Pansy filled her vision, and Hermione reached for her, spurred on by a need to stop the pain, to stop the ache. Desperation blinded her. Hermione grasped for the edge of her robe, yanking her close. Her arms darted out and encircled her waist, her fingers clutching fistfuls of her robe. The fabric was rough against her cheek as she buried her face against Pansy’s chest, her nose hidden between the curve of her shoulder and neck. 

Hermione swallowed deep breaths of air. Her magic buzzed, sated. Her lungs filled with cold autumn air as her mind was inundated with the faint scent of lavender and cedarwood. Pansy’s body was warm against hers. Her head had slumped forward until it rested on top of Hermione’s, and Hermione could feel the outline of her chin pressed against her curls. One of her arms hung by her side, the other roughly wrapped around Hermione’s shoulders, her grip tight. She felt almost limp. Boneless. Hermione basked in the momentary ebbing of pain. Her magic reached out, fading and blending with Pansy’s, until Hermione was sure she couldn’t tell where hers ended and Pansy’s began. Bliss, truly. The absence of the ache, the swell of Pansy’s own relief flowing through her. 

“Enough.” Pansy stiffened and extracted herself from Hermione’s grip. Her voice was firm but Hermione could sense her uncertainty. 

“I—I’m sorry.” Hermione stepped back.

“It’s fucking with us, don’t you get it?” Pansy said, her frustration building.

“This bloody curse, it wants us to feed into it. The more we give in, the greater its hold on us. It’s trying to _weaken_ us.” Pansy was nearly pacing in front of Hermione.

“Not even a day in and we’re practically falling over each other for relief. This isn’t normal, Granger. I don’t _know_ you. I certainly don’t _like_ you, and I don’t want to be bloody stuck in the same room as you for the rest of my life just so I can hear my own damn thoughts!” Pansy was almost shouting now, her voice rising until Hermione saw her fingers shake with exertion.

“You really think I’m enjoying this?” Hermione jeered, taking another step back. Her voice was quiet, low. She felt backed into a corner, stung by Pansy’s words. 

“You really think,” Hermione enunciated each word, pouring out her hurt, “that I want to spend a single moment with the girl who tried to sell out my best friend to bloody Voldemort?” Pansy recoiled at her words, adding fuel to the fire.

“And that _surprises_ you, Parkinson? Thought I had forgotten? Forgotten the way you bullied me, relentlessly, at school? Thought that since you had your little redemption arc, working at the Ministry, that all was forgiven? You may hate me because I’m not a bloody _arsehole_ , but I’d rather be tied to the Giant Squid and live in the damned Great Lake for the rest of my life than spend a single moment tied to _you!_ ” Sparks crackled at the ends of Hermione’s hair, the bond reacting to the way their magic raged against each other. 

“Fuck you, Granger,” Pansy seethed, the words spitting like venom from her mouth. Her wand pointed at the ground, her body spun and disappeared out of sight, leaving Hermione alone on the road.

Hermione felt her breathing slow, her anger draining from her swiftly as exhaustion took its place. She felt horribly small. Falling to her knees, her hands collided the road cruelly. She felt spikes of gravel against her palms, unable to differentiate between the pain she felt there and the overwhelming darkness that threatened to swallow her. 

-

Hermione woke for the second time that day, groggy but conscious. She could hear soft voices from the other side of the room, muffled by a door. 

“Harry, I don’t know—”

“Draco, love, please. Just talk to her. You know her best. Get Theo to come over if you have to—”

Hermione strained to listen in. Glancing down, she realized she wasn’t in her own home. She was covered by a dark red duvet, her head propped up by pillows considerably nicer than the ones she had at home. The mattress was suspiciously soft.

The door to the room cracked open, letting in a stream of light from the hallway.

“Hermione? Are you awake?”

Hermione grunted a response, in no hurry to sit up. Soft footsteps shuffled into the room, and she felt three distinct indents rest against the side of the bed. 

“Are all of you here?” She muttered, her eyes trained on the ceiling.

“Ron’s on his way over.” Ginny patted her leg through the blanket, her voice hushed.

“So you all know then.” Her voice was flat, clear of emotions.

“I told them earlier,” Harry replied. His voice reached her from the left side of the bed.

Sighing, Hermione tried to prop herself up.

Luna smiled at her softly from behind Ginny, her hand coming to rest gently on her other leg.

“What an adventure you’ve been on,” Luna decided. Hermione heard Ginny gently snort beside her. Ginny was still in her Harpies uniform, her long red hair tied back into a braid half pulled apart by the wind, her shoulders rounded by the thick leather pads strapped across her body for protection. Luna looked as she always did after coming home from work: dressed in faded jeans and a brightly knit jumper, her wheat-blonde curls springing in every direction.

“Thanks, Luna. That’s one way of putting it. I’m sorry you all had to leave work early. Harry, help me up, will you?”

Harry grabbed another pillow off the floor the fluffed it, tucking it behind Hermione until she was seated, staring back at her friends.

“How’re you feeling, ‘Mione?” Ginny asked.

“Fine, I think. Exhausted. My wrists hurt like hell.” Hermione sighed and tried to move her wrists, the joints stiff and unyielding. Her palms were dotted with little red marks where gravel had dug in. She paused, glancing up at Harry, something unsettling twisting in her gut. “She’s here though, isn’t she?”

Harry nodded, his chin tilting behind him.

“Draco’s with her, she’s in the other room.”

Ah. So that’s why she felt like she could breathe. 

“And you invited her into your home, Harry? Really?” Hermione couldn’t help the irritation that crept into her tone.

“Hermione, I found you literally sprawled across the road when I came to check on you. Are you really in a position to question her being here?” Harry kept his voice light, but Hermione caught his frustration with her.

“Where did you find her?” She asked, quick to change the subject. 

“Draco found her, actually. She had apparated back to the Ministry. I genuinely think she was trying to return to work. He found her slumped in the hallway near the Department of Mysteries. She’s angry, Hermione.”

“Serves her bloody right,” Hermione muttered. “I know she’s angry, Harry. I can literally feel her anger.” 

Ginny and Luna exchanged incredulous looks.

“I know, I’m sorry. I think she’s protecting herself though. Anger is the only way she can right now.”

Hermione bristled. “She’s not a child, Harry. She can control her actions.” 

Harry clicked his tongue, about to reply, before the door crashed open.

“‘Mione!” Ron darted into the room, almost tripping over the area rug, before launching himself at Hermione. He, too, had come from work, clad in his Auror’s robes. 

“Hi Ron,” Hermione gasped, crushed between his arms. His messy red hair tickled at her nose and she grinned into the embrace, welcoming the comfort. 

“I’ll kill her ‘Mione, I swear if you ask me to, I’ll kill her,” Ron whispered fiercely in her ear, while love for her oldest friend swelled in her chest. 

“Ron,” Harry chided, “I’m sure Hermione appreciates the sentiment, but you’d quite literally be killing her as well. And I think we can all agree this wasn’t purposeful, by either party.”

Run grunted in reluctant agreement and stepped back, plunking himself down in front of Harry, forcing Harry to rearrange himself on the bed. He ruffled the top of Hermione’s hair playfully, earning a stern glance in return. 

“You look alright, though, don’t you,” Ron declared. 

Ginny scoffed and reached out to swat Ron across the head. “Tactful, Ron, really. Did you expect her to have grown horns or a tattoo of ‘Slytherin’ across her forehead?”

“Alright, alright.” Hermione interrupted them, not sure she was in the mood for the sibling back-and-forths she usually enjoyed. She was feeling a little self-conscious. Four sets of eyes were trained on her, searching to see if she had changed, if she was okay, if she was about to suddenly combust where she sat. 

The door cracked open for a third time, and Hermione welcomed the distraction.

“Hi, darling, how are you?” Draco padded softly into the room, reaching the bed and kissing each side of Hermione’s cheeks. He sent an annoyed glance at Ron as he straightened up, who at this point was taking up most of the left side of the bed. Draco went to stand behind Harry and rested his hands against his shoulders, concern evident in his gaze. 

“Alright, thanks.” She managed a quick smile for him.

“Did Theo arrive?” Harry turned to ask Draco, accepting his nod.

“Yeah, he’s with Pansy. She’s alright, too,” Draco nodded.

“Bit of a mess, isn’t this,” Ron announced to the room, glancing between the group gathered there. 

“Weasel, I swear to Merlin—” Draco started, his calm demeanour instantly ruffled with annoyance. Ginny tried desperately to muffle her laughter as Harry groaned and started talking above them. While Draco and Ron had managed to agree to a tentative peace agreement between them years ago, they were still constantly at each other’s throats, much to Harry’s chagrin and Ginny’s pure delight. 

Hermione largely tuned them out, her mind feeling fuzzy again. She felt Luna’s soft hand reach out and slip under hers, holding it gently. Hermione squeezed it in reply, happy she was there. She knew she could only hold off on seeing Pansy for so long, unsure if living side by side in other rooms was going to cut it until this ‘mess’—as Ron had called it—was sorted out.


	4. Sleep

“Merlin, alright, let me get this straight.” Ron shook his head incredulously, ignoring Draco’s pointed look. “This curse has tied your magical cores somehow, and that’s why Parkinson is in the guestroom across the hall?”

“Bond,” Luna interjected. Harry made an uncertain noise beside her.

“Seems nicer to say it like that, don’t you think?” She shrugged, and Hermione inhaled deeply to stop herself from correcting her. 

“Still, nicer witches out there you could be tied to.” Ron glanced at Luna, who seemed uninterested in countering his point.

“I don’t have to _touch_ her, Ron, it’s just a proximity thing.” Hermione picked at the edge of her nail, no longer enjoying the questions she had to field from the group (though, mostly, just from Ron). 

“Erm,” Ginny pulled her lips together, “no one actually said anything about touching, ‘Mione.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, shutting it a second later. Flecks of red spread across her neck.

“Right, no, I know. Just…wanted to make it clear.”

“Of course,” Draco swooped in, catching the edge of panic in Hermione’s voice, “we know this is a strange situation, Hermione, and we’ll all be here for you until it’s resolved.” 

Hermione smiled, her throat tightening as she nodded.

“Right then.” Draco straightened himself up, pointing to Ron and Harry. “Out, the both of you. Out, out, out,” he waved at Ron, who tried to protest. “Hermione has had a long enough day without all of us gawking at her for another minute.” 

Hermione mouthed a silent thank you towards Draco, who was busy shooing Ron and Harry from the room. Draco blew her a quick kiss from the doorway before shutting it behind them, leaving Hermione alone with Ginny and Luna. 

“Will you stay?” Hermione looked between the two of them, her voice quiet.

“For as long as you need,” Luna confirmed.

“Here, scooch over then.” Ginny nudged at Hermione until she made room for Luna and Ginny on either side of her. 

The light outside of Draco and Harry’s home had already faded to a soft purple, and Hermione could feel the heaviness in her limbs, the fog threatening to descend on her thoughts. The ache thudded along as well, sated but still a constant reminder that she was trapped.

Ginny and Luna curled up gently around her and Hermione allowed herself to fade slowly in and out of sleep, lulled by Luna’s soft breathing against her ear and Ginny’s sighs as she shifted in her sleep. Moments later, Hermione was pulled under, drawn into a fitful sleep.

For the first time in months, she dreamt. Instead of her usual dreams, ones where Crookshanks chased shapeless forms through dark Hogwarts’ hallways, these were vivid. In one, Pansy loomed over her, double her size. Her face was twisted with disgust, peering down at Hermione from above. In another, they were back on the street outside of Hermione’s home. Pansy was shouting, wordlessly, but all Hermione could see were tears streaming steadily down her cheeks. Anxiety built in Hermione like a deep well as one after another, Pansy shifted into innumerable forms. In the next, she stood close in front of Hermione, her breath ghosting Hermione’s cheek. Her hands felt like ice as they reached out and grazed Hermione’s neck, caressing her, one of Pansy’s thumbs stilling against the pulse just under Hermione’s jaw. Then her hands began to squeeze, tightening around Hermione’s neck while Hermione stood there, immobilized.

Hermione gasped in her sleep, suddenly blinking up into the darkness of Harry and Draco’s guest room. She waited while her heart stilled to a quieter rhythm, concentrating on the feel of Ginny and Luna’s warm limbs pressed against her. Adjusting her eyes to the dim light, she tried to check the time on the clock hung against the back wall. Its quiet, steady beats filled the silence of the room. 3:30am. Merlin. 

For the next twenty minutes, Hermione tried to will herself back to sleep. She reasoned with herself, scolded herself, then practically begged her subconscious to allow her to sleep for just a few more hours. But the ache she felt was stronger, its pull just a little greater. While it hadn’t spread into a full headache just yet, she knew it was on the cusp of descending into another migraine. She dug her fingers back into softness of her temples. The sharpness of her nails against her skin was a welcome distraction from the gnawing pull against her magic. She could feel the irritation of the bond tugging at her and did her best to fight it. It was just a curse, after all, and it hadn’t succeeded in killing her yet. Hermione smirked into the darkness. The curse might fight against her, but she wasn’t one to turn down a challenge. 

Ten minutes later, Hermione was carefully extracting herself from tangled arms. She wasn’t exactly giving up, she reminded herself, just going to get some fresh air. She gently nudged Ginny’s leg over, pulling herself up and out from under Luna’s arm that had flung over top of her and grasped Ginny’s hand. Hermione felt the ache return, though not through the bond this time. Longing spread through her chest as she watched her friends reach for each other even in sleep, aching for the gentle love that they shared. Something soft, easy. The type of love where someone brings you tea when you’re too engrossed in a good book to put the water on, where they kiss your forehead when you’re tired, listen to stories about your day, and wear giant paper-mache hats painted gold to look like a Holyhead Harpies’ logo on game days. Okay, well, maybe not the last one. 

Hermione shook herself out of it, refusing to indulge her imagination any longer. Merlin, she was going soft. She tried to remind herself that this wasn't forever, she wasn't doomed to be at the receiving end of Pansy's barbs for the next few decades, trapped in a loveless curse that simultaneously pushed them together and tore at them.

As quietly as she could, Hermione padded towards the door of the room, careful not to wake anyone else in the house. Slowly clicking the door shut behind her, she stopped herself from audibly gasping. The bond gripped her, tightening, twisting. Panting, Hermione focused in on the closed door down the hall. The bond knew Pansy was there. Just on the other side, just a few metres away. 

Gritting her teeth, Hermione slowly began to pace. She didn’t _have_ to go in, she could just sit near the door, maybe. Just near enough to satisfy the bond. It was hardly giving in. More like compromising. 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” she muttered into the silence of the hallway, finding herself moments later seated cross-legged on the floor and leaning against the guest room door. Her head rested heavily against the wood behind her as the bond thrummed gently.

Hermione startled awake shortly after, her body protesting against the quick jolt back into consciousness. Her head had rolled awkwardly to the side, and her neck stiffened from the crick already worked into the nerves. She felt jittery and hot, beyond irritated at the incessant bond that continued to tug at her, and desperate for sleep.

Resting her hand against the doorknob and quietly twisting it, she pushed the door open with the other, pleased when it swung open silently. The large four-poster bed filled the centre of the room, heavy grey curtains hung and gathered into knots on either side. Closing the door behind her, Hermione tiptoed towards it, propelled forwards. She could make out Pansy’s sleeping form. Her chest rose and fell steadily under the duvet. 

She looked peaceful, damn her. Not even a hint of restlessness. Hermione grumbled under her breath, annoyed by the seeming unfairness of it all. Of course Pansy was sleeping soundly. Probably having sweet dreams of cursing unsuspecting visitors to the Ministry and revelling in their misery.

As strong as her frustration was, Hermione’s need for sleep was greater. And the bond gently coaxed her forward, promising rest. She briefly debated sleeping on the floor on one side of the room, near enough for the bond to finally quiet down, but far enough away she didn’t have to risk accidentally touching Pansy’s sleeping form. 

In a moment of ingenuity, Hermione began piling the mountain of decorative pillows that were thrown onto the floor back onto the bed. She remembered the day Harry and Draco had finally bought their first home together, and Harry came over to complain relentlessly about Draco’s fixation on having enough decorative pillows to swallow every bed in the house. _‘Why Hermione? Why?’_ He had groaned, wildly gesturing back and forth while seated at her kitchen table, _‘He just takes them off every night, and then in the morning, piles them all back on. Why? This is madness.’_ Sending up a silent thank you to Draco and his obsession with expensive throw pillows, Hermione arranged them in a line down the bed, stacking them as she went, careful not to wake Pansy. Once she was satisfied that enough space separated them that there was absolutely no way Parkinson could roll onto her side, Hermione gently peeled back the covers and tucked herself into the other side of the bed. She relished the feel of the cool sheets against her hot skin. The bond settled as well, subsiding from the front of her mind and pooling around her warmly. Sighing, she sunk quickly into sleep.

-

Pansy yawned and stretched, beginning with her toes and flexing through each limb as she blinked sleepily up at the ceiling. Her arms were sprawled across the bed, revelling in the momentary calm. Surprisingly, she had slept well. The burning agitation from the bond had subsided at some point during the night, and her reel of nightmares had faded into nothingness. The day before had been, safe to say, one of the worst. Theo had found her virtually incapacitated outside the door to the Department of Mysteries. He had reached out instantly to Harry, who was in the process of moving Hermione to his home. Theo had practically dragged Pansy over there, sequestering her away into a bedroom that looked like Narcissa Malfoy had decorated it. 

Despite her and Draco’s friendship, she rarely visited his home. They usually met for lunch once every few weeks, sometimes for a night at the pub with Theo and Blaise. While she and Harry were polite to each other, she had never felt the need to get close to him or intrude on the life that he and Draco had created together. Draco had invited her over a number of times for dinner, but she always had a decent excuse or reason to back out. Not her finest moments, but Pansy valued having a bit of distance now and then.

Pansy shifted to the side, about to get out of bed, when she heard a soft sigh beside her. Her whole body froze in place, a chill working its way through her limbs. She turned, briefly confused by the row of pillows that lined the bed. Her arm was thrown overtop of the stack, and she realized with dawning horror that her hand was resting against a soft arm. Pansy grabbed the first pillow and tossed it back onto the floor behind her. Hermione’s face, pressed against the mattress, came into view. Pansy stopped herself from groaning. At least that explained why she hadn’t woken up feeling like a train had run over her. Hermione’s features were gentle in sleep; her brow was relaxed, the pinched expression she had worn yesterday finally relaxed, her lashes gently curled and resting against her cheeks. Pansy had the sudden urge to reach out and brush away one of the curls that had fallen in front of her face.

Pansy caught herself, her hand reeling back. Weird. Right, okay, that was…weird. It was only because she had just woken up, she wasn't thinking properly. 

The excuse convinced her enough to let it go, silently slipping out of bed and pulling on a jumper Draco had lent her. She passed her neatly folded Unspeakable robes on her way out the room, pausing to glance back at Hermione. She had virtually starfished across the bed, her limbs stretched out in sleep, hair tousled and dark against the grey sheets. Watching her, Pansy felt an odd twinge through the bond. Alarmed, she closed the door behind her, an uncomfortable pit forming in her stomach. 

She found Draco already awake in the kitchen downstairs, busy buttering pieces of toast.

“Morning, Pans.” Draco nodded at her as he crunched into one, gesturing for her to take one. Pansy seated herself at the kitchen island and pulled over a slice, carefully layering cheese onto it. 

“Morning, Draco. You’re up early.” 

Draco shrugged and wiped crumbs of his fingers. “Usually am. Harry tends to sleep in a bit longer. It is a workday, after all.”

Pansy sighed and bit into her breakfast. “I was hoping to go in today, actually. Maybe just for a few hours.” 

Draco’s eyes narrowed, blue-grey and intense. 

“I don’t think you should, Pans. You still don’t know the full ramifications of the curse, and you have no way to be sure what happened yesterday won’t happen again.”

“Well, what then?” Pansy dropped her toast back onto her plate, frustrated. “Just sit around and make small talk with Granger all day? Ask her what her latest favourite book is?”

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Draco hummed. “I think it might do you some good to just talk with her. She’s actually really lovely, once you get past her know-it-all tendency. She's not bad looking either. Hair is still a bit bushy, but nothing unmanageable.” Draco grinned at her, only partially teasing.

Pansy scoffed but silently accepted the steaming mug of coffee Draco pushed towards her. Draco leaned against the island, his forearms flat against the cool marble. 

“You’re seeing her as your adversary in this," his voice shifted, no longer teasing, "but she’s just as miserable as you are with this whole situation. Knowing Hermione, she’ll want nothing more than this to disappear. And,” Draco paused, sipping his coffee, “if Croaker was the one who brought her in, she’s probably your best chance at fixing this anyways.”

“Alright, point taken, you’re right.” Pansy sighed and watched as Draco nodded smugly.

“Always am, Pans, always am.”

-

Hermione woke to the smell of coffee nearby.

“Harry?” She yawned, hoping he had brought her up a cup. Instead, she heard someone clear their throat and wait, the silence stretching as Hermione rolled over in bed.

“Oh, Parkinson, erm, good morning.” Hermione quickly sat up, realizing she had been caught in Pansy’s bed. She had planned to get up early and slip back out before she had woken up, essentially erasing the night altogether.

“Sleep well?” Pansy offered her the mug of coffee in her hand, filled with extra cream. She looked calmer than Hermione had expected. 

“Yeah, thanks.” Hermione took it from her tentatively, cradling it close to her body. 

Pansy shifted on her feet, clearly uncomfortable. “How’re your wrists? Draco told me you fell yesterday.”

Grateful for something to talk about, Hermione nodded, “Yeah, well.” Her voice trailed off, finding herself at a loss. Pansy finally sat down on the edge of the bed, pointedly ignoring Hermione’s stare. Was she…wearing Draco’s jumper? Hermione peered closer, recognizing the soft black sweater as one of Draco’s favourites. It was strange, seeing her out of her Ministry robes. Inadvertently, it had softened some of her edges, at least making her look more human. Against the wool of the sweater, the cut of her jaw looked less severe and more…Gods, she didn’t know, nice? Pansy began speaking, and Hermione quickly shifted her gaze away from Pansy’s face.

“Look, I’m sorry for being such an arse yesterday. This is—”

“Scary,” Hermione offered, her voice quiet. 

“Not normal,” Pansy agreed, and Hermione felt herself relax momentarily. This Pansy, the one who didn’t try and bite her head off every minute, she thought she could probably handle until they sorted out the curse. 

“I was thinking,” Hermione started, careful to keep her tone light, “that if you were up to it, we could go in and see Unspeakable Croaker today. The sooner we start trying to piece together what happened the better, I think we can both agree.”

Pansy released a deep breath she was holding and nodded. “I agree. I briefly spoke with him yesterday before I left, and he agreed that we should start working on it immediately. Theo and I will of course be on the case, and he’s assigned Zabini and Bulstrode to help us.”

“Merlin,” Hermione muttered, “is every Slytherin from our year now an Unspeakable?”

Pansy’s eyes flashed. “Well, Granger, most of us had limited options after the war. The Department of Mysteries was one of the only departments willing to train us, and Croaker appears to be the only decent employee in the whole Ministry.”

“Well, _Parkinson_ ,” Hermione scoffed, “not sure why you feel the need to sound so accusatory about all of this. You and your friends’ decisions were hardly my fault.” 

Pansy hissed out air from between her gritted teeth. Hermione carefully schooled her features into a look of calm, irritated at herself for how quickly they had descended from pleasantries to insults. She watched as Pansy stood to her feet, almost tossing her hair back as she turned to stalk from the room.

“We’re leaving in an hour, Granger. You’re welcome for the coffee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friends! I'm on tumblr at https://glitterslytherin.tumblr.com/ if you want to follow along / chat


	5. Consume

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw/tw: sexual assault (not between main pairing)

Pansy and Hermione were seated in Croaker’s office, Pansy tapping her fingers against the edge of his desk, Hermione anxiously bouncing her leg. They had only been there for five minutes, but it already felt like too long spent together in silence. The two of them had spoken only sparingly since meeting in Draco and Harry’s foyer an hour after their failed talk that morning. Hermione had watched as Pansy descended the stairs in her Unspeakable robes, her face a mask, letting nothing through. They had side-alonged to the Ministry that morning, and Hermione could still feel the brush of Pansy’s shoulder against hers and the feel of her hand tucked into the crook of Pansy’s arm. 

“Um, Parkinson,” No longer able to stomach the silence, Hermione cleared her throat and waited for Pansy to turn. She shifted a bored glance at Hermione, her eyebrows barely raising in question. 

“What is it, Granger?” 

“I wanted to say that I appreciated your apology this morning. I feel like… well, I’m sorry that I jumped down your throat after. I know I haven’t been the kindest towards you either, and…I apologize.” Hermione nervously twisted her hands in her lap. She was frustrated at herself for the way Pansy made her squirm under her gaze, the way her pulse jumped when she narrowed her eyes at her.

“Alright, Granger. We’ll call it even then.” Pansy continued to lightly tap her fingers against Croaker’s desk, alright looking past Hermione. Hermione’s gaze followed her moving hand, watching as her tendons moved under her pale hand, hearing the soft thuds of Pansy’s fingers meeting wood.

“And,” Hermione pressed on, “I’d like you to call me Hermione. At least sometimes.”

Pansy finally turned fully towards her. She watched her carefully, her eyes flickering over Hermione, searching her gaze. Hermione felt a tug on the bond. It seemed almost like a caress, a soft pulse of pleasure between their magic.

“Hermione, then.” Pansy’s lips barely pulled into a smile before falling again. “But I prefer Granger.”

“Ah!” Croaker pushed into his office, and Hermione jumped at the sudden intrusion. “I was hoping to see you two! Now, let’s get you both up to speed.”

Croaker set down his bag with a heavy thud on his desk, methodically pulling out a number of books as he asked about how they were both doing.

“I did, ah, a little further investigating after your departure yesterday,” he hummed, arranging his robes around him as he settled into his chair. 

“Ms. Granger, since you were able to place the snakestones with their phonetically matching runes, I think we’ve established that you’ve successfully broken open the first portion of this, ah, magic. As you’ve both experienced, it’s connected a part of your magical cores that, at this early stage of the bond, has unfortunate consequences if not followed. Now, Ms. Granger, as you’re not an Unspeakable, I can’t grant you access to our offices. So I’ve set you up with Ms. Parkinson and our team in an unused office in the DMLE, thanks to Mr. Potter. They’ve had some successful leads with tracking the origins of the stones, but I think some good could come from further examination of the parchment. Which is why,” he tapped the tower of books in front of him, “I’ve collected a number of useful reads for you to look into. I’ll show you both to the new office, and we can chat on the way over. Shall we?” 

Croaker was on his feet again in a moment, and Hermione reluctantly stacked a number of books into her arms as she followed him and Pansy back down the hallway. She trailed behind the pair, both their robes gently whipping behind them as they walked. 

The team, it turns out, was exactly as Pansy had described. Theo, Blaise Zabini, and Millicent Bulstrode were waiting for the group in the assigned office. Theo smiled at her apologetically, and Blaise extended his hand politely in greeting. Theo looked the same as the day before, except for an added look of exhaustion. Zabini looked like a significantly grown-up version of himself, handsome and reserved. 

Millicent was last, and she gripped Hermione’s hand tightly, smiling at her but without it reaching her eyes. Standing amongst them, Hermione couldn’t help but feel like a mouse dropped into a snake pit.

Croaker left them soon after, and Hermione listened as Theo outlined their objectives for the next week. She ran through the list in her mind. First, try to decipher as much of the parchment as possible, follow up with the DMLE about its origins, and research any historical cases that had similar bonding curses involved. 

Although she was beyond uncomfortable with their current arrangements, Hermione had to admit that she enjoyed not feeling like she was about to crack open at any moment. Her and Pansy’s forced closeness settled the bond, allowing her to feel like she could breathe again. After two hours of sitting across from Pansy at the large table in the room, her head felt clearer, her magic a little more sharp. And if she kept her head down in the book she had open on her lap, she almost forgot where she was. Her usual research habits kicked in. She had a curl wrapped around her index finger, twirling it incessantly as she read, a quill in hand, another tucked behind her ear. 

Eventually, Theo and Blaise left to return to their own offices, claiming they would be back soon once they retrieved the paperwork they were looking for. Hermione nodded at their excuse, about to return to her research when she caught Millicent staring at her. She looked away, doing her best to ignore her. But she could feel her eyes on her still, boring a hole in the top of her head. In the years since Hogwarts, she had lost her rounded features and turned into a rather fierce-looking women. She was still significantly taller than Hermione, her figure broad and imposing. Her eyes had a blankness about them that set Hermione on edge. 

Hermione quickly closed the book in front of her on ancient runes and hurried to stand. “Just going to use the loo,” she muttered as Pansy looked up. The toilets were thankfully close enough to the office that Hermione could go without the bond pulling any more than usual. 

Hermione took as long as she possibly could, happy to be out of that room. She dragged her feet on the way back to the office, reluctant to spend the rest of her afternoon stuck between a pair of Slytherins. Her hand was on the door, about to push it back open, when she heard voices. She paused, recognizing the hushed but angry whispers from inside. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Pansy’s voice, unmistakably. Her voice was dangerously soft. Hermione’s eyes shifted around the empty hallway before carefully pressing her ear against the door, desperately wishing she had an Extendable Ear on her.

“Oh?” Millicent jeered, “I see the way you look at her, don’t lie to me Pansy.”

“You’re unbelievable! I—” Hermione strained to hear, Pansy’s voice cutting in and out.

“I’ve seen that look before, Pansy, or don’t you remember? Have you forgotten so easily?”

The voices sounded close together now, like they were inches apart.

“Millicent, it’s been almost a year. It’s time for you to seriously consider moving on—”

Hermione felt her body go cold, realizing what she had stumbled upon. Pansy and bloody Millicent _Bulstrode?_ For Merlin’s sake. Hermione made a show of loudly fumbling with the door handle, taking enough time to re-enter the room so that the voices had gone quiet on the other side. She schooled her features to be as casual as possible as she found her seat at the end of the table again, careful not to make eye contact with either Pansy or Millicent. From her peripheral, she watched as Pansy strode out of the room, slamming the door hard behind her. Silence filled the room again and Hermione tried not to focus on the fact that she was now alone with Millicent in the room. 

“So.” 

Hermione’s head slowly raised at Millicent’s voice, a chill running through her as Millicent fixed her gaze on her. Hermione glanced around the room, finally returning Millicent’s stare.

“Erm, something you wanted to discuss?” Hermione offered, disliking the way Millicent was watching her. 

“Actually, yes. Granger, would you mind coming to take a look at this passage? I’m not sure I understand the lines of the staves here.” Millicent pointed at the large tome laid out in front of her. 

Stifling a sigh of relief, Hermione stood and worked her way around the table until she stood beside Millicent’s chair. She bent over the book, eyes strained. 

“Here?” She waited for Millicent’s nod and traced her finger along the lines. “I think the author is trying to be artist with the staves, that’s all. See, if you look at the first rune of every line, you’ll notice the author has put a—” Hermione abruptly stopped as Millicent stood to her feet, brushing away Hermione’s hand from the page.

“Thanks, Granger. So helpful,” she murmured, towering over her. 

Hermione instinctively stepped away from her, her foot catching on Millicent’s chair and sending her stumbling back. She stopped when her back hit the wall, her shoulders aching in complaint. Millicent quickly closed the space between them, her eyes cold. 

“Alright, Granger?” she whispered. Hermione tried to still her breathing and moved to step to the side. Millicent blocked her path. Hermione could feel her breath hot against her cheek and instinctively reached for her wand, tucked into her pocket. Millicent caught her movement and raised her eyebrows.

“Going to curse me, Granger? Not sure I’ve done anything to deserve that.” 

Hermione’s hand clenched around her wand, seconds away from raising it when the full weight of Millicent’s body pushed against her, trapping her arms by her side and crushing her mouth down onto hers. Hermione gasped, her body moving on instinct. She fought against her, shoving hard against her shoulders as much as she could while trying to break away from the crush of her mouth. She tasted blood against her tongue, unsure whose it was. Millicent’s grasp on her wrists tightened the more she struggled, and she heard a crack along her left wrist from the pressure and a flood of pain. Panic welled up in her as she fought to control her breathing. Millicent’s face blurred before her, and Hermione felt like she was back on the floor of Malfoy Manor again, her wrists held down, her body immobilized. 

“Please,” she gasped, her cry smothered by Millicent’s mouth, her teeth clashing against hers. Hermione bit down hard on Millicent’s tongue, her teeth breaking through soft tissue. Millicent pulled her mouth back, her hands clenching Hermione’s wrists like a vice. 

“You little bitch—” she snarled, and Hermione felt herself slipping down against the wall when suddenly, Millicent’s weight was gone.

Stunned, Hermione watched as Pansy grabbed Millicent by the back of her robes and threw her against the ground, her body sliding against the floor and crashing against the collection of chairs. Pansy’s chest was heaving, her breaths ragged and her eyes wild as she watched Millicent scramble to her feet.

“Get the fuck out,” she hissed. Her wand was pointed squarely at her chest. Millicent’s demeanour instantly changed, her mouth falling open to protest.

“Pansy, no, you don’t understand—”

“Get out, or I’ll force you out.” Pansy’s voice was low and even, rimmed with ice. Millicent shoved past her and out of the room, and Pansy followed her to the door and locked it behind her.

Hermione had slumped against the wall after being released, sliding down until she was on the floor. The bond had reacted to the intrusion as well, knocking at her like a punch to the stomach. She muffled her gasps against her sleeve, desperately trying to still her shaking. Once Millicent was gone, Pansy turned to her. Hermione caught the horror in her eyes as she crouched over her. She felt Pansy’s hand ghost over her wrist that she was cradling in her lap, her eyes falling on the silvery letters carved into her skin, turning red beneath the swelling. She felt the pad of her thumb gently wipe away a smear of blood against her lip.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Pansy murmured. Hermione felt paralyzed, unable to reply. Her whole body was trembling with the aftershock of adrenaline and fear. Tears gathered at the edges of her eyes, threatening to spill over. Without thinking, Pansy dropped to her knees and gathered Hermione into her arms, careful to avoid her wrist. Hermione sunk into the feel of her arms, leaning her weight against her body, feeling the firm press of Pansy’s chest against her cheek. Pansy’s voice drifted above her, soothingly. Hermione closed her eyes as Pansy gently stroked her fingers through her hair, grazing them over her forehead. 

Slowly, she felt herself return to her body. The pain in her wrist sharpened and came into focus, the taste of iron settled in her mouth, she was aware of the trembling in her body. She felt the bond settling as well, more like a buzz in the back of her head.

And there was Pansy’s soft breath against her curls. Hermione realized that Pansy’s hand, slowly moving through her hair, was trembling as well. 

Gradually, Hermione lifted herself from Pansy’s chest. Pansy was watching her closely.

“Thank you,” Hermione sucked in a breath, “for helping me.” She was still having trouble focusing, her vision blurring from the sides. 

Pansy continued rubbing small circles in the middle of Hermione’s back.

“We need to get you to St. Mungo’s. I’ll talk to Croaker, she’ll lose her job. She’ll face charges—” Pansy abruptly stopped when Hermione held her hand up. 

“Can we just, for a minute…” Hermione trailed off, unsure what she was asking. Pansy, sensing Hermione needed time, stilled. 

Long moments passed until she nodded at Pansy, feeling ready. Carefully, Pansy helped her to her feet. Hermione watched as she quickly jotted down memos for both Croaker and Harry, letting them know what had happened. 

“Here,” Pansy tucked Hermione under her arm, guiding her from the office, “if I can get us outside, do you think you can side-along?” 

“Yeah,” Hermione shifted beneath her arm, her breathe catching at her touch, “I think I can.”


	6. Fever

The past two days had been, safe to say, the absolute worst. Hermione watched the Healer with resigned eyes as she murmured a healing spell over Hermione’s outstretched wrist. The Healer clucked and sighed as she gently poked at the swollen wrist with her wand, mending the fractured bones back together slowly. The purple scar that was etched across her forearm settled as the swelling dissipated, the poorly carved letters fading to their usual silver colour against her skin. She was actively avoiding Pansy’s stare at this point, waiting for the Healer to leave. She imagined that Pansy could feel remnants of her pain working up her wrist. The Healer had given the pair of them an odd look when she found them waiting in the room together, undoubtedly confused as to why an Unspeakable had accompanied Hermione to St. Mungo’s. While Hermione was easily recognizable in the Wizarding World, she tried to keep a relatively low profile. The only real public appearances she did anymore were for her book launches and an interview here or there after one of her books was released. Though Harry still had to dodge the prying press, her and Ron had largely been left to their own devices the past few years. Nonetheless, the Healer’s stare set Hermione on edge. The last thing they needed was their situation getting out. As an excuse, Pansy had mentioned something about being on official Ministry business and the Healer stopped glancing between the two of them, knowing better than to start asking questions. When she finally left, after a long discussion of how Hermione was to take things easy and let her body heal, Hermione let go of the breath she was inadvertently holding onto. 

“Granger,” Pansy started, discomfort evident in her voice. “I never would have left you alone with Millicent if I knew…Croaker wouldn’t have put her on the case if he suspected…I’m sorry. Our situation is traumatic enough without this added incident.”

Hermione responded with a soft snort at Pansy’s choice of words and her sudden professionalism. The shock of what happened had worn off and she felt cagey, anger creeping back into her demeanour. Still tied to Parkinson, now with a shoddy wrist thanks to bloody Bulstrode, and caught fielding prying questions from a Healer. And she felt, with a creeping suspicion, that today’s events would snake their way into her nightmares, adding to the reel of scenes that played on a merciless loop while she slept. Lestrange’s breath against her cheek, Hagrid cradling Harry’s still form against the dark backdrop of the forest, Fred’s broken body against stone, her parents staring at her without recognition, their daughter a forever stranger to them. And now, the feel of Millicent’s grip against her wrist, the clash of her teeth against her mouth. Hermione tried to quell the wave of fear that threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted, more desperately than anything, to curl up on her favourite chair with a comforting read and a steaming mug of tea. 

“Granger,” Pansy tried again, “I think we’d benefit from maybe discussing what just happened—”

“No,” Hermione cut in. “Not today.” She pushed the swelling fear and anger firmly back down, knowing she’d do her best to forget about today and avoid Pansy’s questions. It was bad enough Harry would hear about this, she didn’t want to have to relive the incident.

“Alright,” Pansy conceded, pressing her lips firmly together and waiting for Hermione to continue.

“I don’t think we should go back to Harry and Draco’s, at least not tonight.” Hermione stared down at her lap, noting the specks of blood that had absorbed into the fabric of her jeans. “Harry will have told Draco by now, and I don’t think I could handle his concern at this point. Can we…Merlin, do you live nearby?” She glanced up, suddenly aware she had no clue where Pansy might live.

“In Hampstead,” Pansy filled in. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to yours?”

The idea of sitting in her warm living room with Pansy after today seemed foreign. She wanted to be _alone_ in her home, not awkwardly enduring the presence of Pansy. An image of muddy boots on her rug confirmed it for her.

“I’m alright, we can…switch off, I suppose, until we get this sorted.” Hermione stood. “Shall we, then? Assuming we’re not going back to the Ministry today.” 

Pansy tried to conceal her eye roll but agreed.

-

Pansy’s flat was…different than Hermione had expected. Not that she had really expected anything, to be honest. In the moments before they apparated onto Pansy’s doorstep, Hermione had tried to picture her home but found herself unable to conjure up anything. It was plain, she suspected, or cold. Something wholly un-homey, probably nothing like Hermione’s home. 

Instead, Hermione found herself standing in a rather cozy front room while Pansy shrugged off her outer robe and told Hermione she’d be back shortly. Hermione took the moment by herself to take in the lined bookshelves, the portraits hanging on the walls, the soft grey curtains that framed the large windows. The walls were so dark they were almost black, but they were interrupted with a wall here and there of exposed brick, and thick wooden beams lined the ceiling and framed the space. Hermione ran her hand lightly over the photos, blinking in surprise at an old picture of Draco, Theo, and Pansy. Their faces were caught in perpetual smiles, grinning at each other and gripping tightly to new brooms. In the next, an older Pansy stood between two stoic figures, to her left an older man in dark formal robes with his hand resting firmly on Pansy’s shoulder, his features somber. He looked vaguely familiar. To her right, a tall and imposing woman with long black hair, her lips barely raising into a smile. In the portrait, Pansy’s eyes traveled from staring straight at the photographer to glancing towards her mother, and in the photo, the pair locked eyes. Her parents, Hermione assumed. She looked closer, noting how Pansy held her mother’s hand tightly. Their fingers were intertwined, and Hermione thought she could make out Pansy’s mum leaning towards her daughter. Hermione felt an odd twinge travel through the bond. It felt like longing.

“I see you’ve met my parents.”

Hermione gasped and quickly turned at Pansy’s voice, almost knocking over the picture in the process. 

“I—yes, they seem lovely.” Mildly embarrassed at being caught looking, Hermione nodded towards the photo.

Pansy’s eyes narrowed but she said nothing, instead turning and gesturing for Hermione to follow. Hermione felt alarm bells start to go off in her head at Pansy’s reaction. Had she said something wrong? Had she—oh. _Oh._ The sudden familiarity returned to her with a jolt. She _had_ seen Pansy’s father before, though it was during the Battle of Hogwarts. His body had been pushed up against the wall of a hallway near the Great Hall, and Hermione had glanced down at him while running past. His mask had been knocked to the side by falling bricks, and blood had pooled around his body and seeped into the cracks of the stone. Hermione tried to push the scene from her head, nauseous from the memory and the pangs of distress flowing through the bond. She almost stumbled into Pansy’s back when Pansy stopped and turned back to her.

“You didn’t know. Forget about it.” 

Hermione nodded slowly, caught unaware that Pansy had felt her panic through the bond and understood what had happened. She followed her quietly the rest of the way to the kitchen, where she was greeted by a wall of dark cupboards and stark white countertops, lined with old cookbooks, candles that had dripped over their holders, and half-finished bottles of red wine.

Pansy stood on the other side of the counter, looking unsure of what to do with an unsolicited guest in her kitchen. Hermione pulled out a high wooden stool tucked under the counter and climbed on it. She watched in silence as Pansy put the kettle on. With her back turned, Hermione noticed how Pansy’s shoulders relaxed as she eased back into a familiar space, flashes of white visible where her hair brushed away from the nape of her neck. She pushed a cup of tea towards Hermione before reaching for one of the bottles nearby and pouring herself a generous glass of red.

“Bit early, isn’t it?” Hermione accepted her cup but nodded towards the glass poised between Pansy’s fingers. 

“Oh, forgive me.” Pansy all but rolled her eyes as she brought another tall-stemmed glass from her cupboard and filled it, setting it in front of Hermione. “Cheers, Granger, to an absolute shit day.”

Hermione lifted the full glass with a sigh before swallowing a mouthful. She screwed up her nose, regretting her bravery but enjoying the way it hummed and warmed her from within. 

“Don’t like it?” Pansy sipped at hers casually, leaving dark red lipstick imprints along the rim. “Draco got it for me, it’s a vintage.”

“Not much of a drinker,” Hermione supplied, only really having an occasional Butterbeer at Wednesday night dinners, and mostly due to Ginny’s encouragement. 

“Unsurprising.” Pansy spun her glass slowly in her hand, pausing before she gestured towards Hermione.

“So, after this morning, did you want to…I don’t know, sleep? Have a bath? Owl one of your friends?”

Hermione almost laughed at Pansy’s attempts at what she assumed was empathy.

“Erm, no, I’m alright, thanks.” Hermione downed another sip. “You don’t have to handle me with kid gloves because of what happened, you know.”

“Merlin, Granger, forgive me for trying to have a heart.” Pansy bristled as she leaned one hip against the counter, her arms crossed. 

“Look, I’ll talk with Harry about it later, but I’d really rather not think about it right now.”

“Fine, fine,” Pansy waved her hand, “I have some books I brought home for the case if you want to go over them.”

Hermione nodded. “Sounds fine,” she pointed towards the wine bottle, “and bring that.” She turned before she could catch Pansy’s raised brows.

-

Hours later, the pair of them were settled into Pansy’s living room, books sprawled out in front of them. Pansy had her legs thrown over the side of her large leather armchair, a book held out in front of her, while Hermione had nestled into the larger sofa across the room, book in one hand and her wine glass clutched tightly in the other. Pansy had lit a few candles sitting on her windowsill, and the room was filled with soft light and the smell of fresh lavender. Hermione was pleasantly warmed by the wine, catching herself staring out the window or at the portraits on the wall, and sometimes at the length of Pansy’s thigh pressed against leather, the hollow of her throat framed by her shirt, the slow rise of her chest as she read. Pansy glanced up and caught her eye.

“I was just going to say,” Hermione blurted out, her cheeks burning under Pansy’s stare, “how odd it is the stones were found in Skye.”

“Why’s that?” Pansy set her book down against her chest to listen. 

“Well, just that a majority of runes found are, obviously, in Nordic areas, or otherwise in places like Orkney or the Isle of Man. I suppose, given their size, they’ve likely travelled. The stones seem…older, I think, than the inscriptions on the parchment. Like they were made first, and then later used in the creation of the parchment.” Hermione found herself rambling, happy to be back in familiar territory.

“That’s likely,” Pansy remarked, “and didn’t you say the parchment runes were likely Younger Futhark anyways?

“Right, yeah,” Hermione murmured, unsure why she was so pleased that Pansy had remembered, “and that lines up with the parchment being created somewhere like Orkney, given the prevalence of short-twig runes still there. But the snakestones…” Hermione paused, the edge of her quill pursed between her lips. Pansy’s gaze fell to where the quill disappeared into Hermione’s mouth, and Hermione quickly pulled it back. “They, erm, they seem older, that’s all.” She felt the wine coupled with mild embarrassment cloud her mind.

“Uh huh.” Pansy turned back to her book. The faint light coming in from the windows had faded into early evening, leaving only the glow from candles and the few lamps that Pansy had lit hours before.

Hermione tried to return to reading but the words swam before her, pictures of runes blurring together. She closed the book with a heavy sigh and dropped it back onto the table, frustrated with herself for her inability to work but enjoying the way the wine made her feel lighter, made her emotions less sharp, dulled the twinge of the bond. Pansy looked up from her book again.

“If you’re done, I can cook something for dinner.”

“You can cook?” Hermione stared in surprise, caught off guard that Pansy would have any vaguely domestic abilities.

“Yeah, Granger, I live alone, in case you hadn’t realized. Someone has to.” Pansy shook her head and stood, making her way towards the kitchen. Unsure of what to do with herself, Hermione trailed behind her and found herself seated at the counter again. She pulled another bottle from Pansy’s collection and topped up her glass. Pansy shot her another interested glance.

“That’s really something you’re supposed to sip, by the way.” Pansy talked over her shoulder as she pulled out a number of pots from the cupboards and began setting up a cutting board.

“I’ll replace it, relax.” Hermione waved Pansy off. 

“So,” Hermione tapped the side of her glass, admiring the crystal cut edges around its base. It seemed expensive, maybe French. The nicest things Hermione had in her cupboards were the handmade mugs Harry had given her one Christmas.

“You and Bulstrode.” She let the statement hang between them, watching as Pansy’s shoulders tightened. She was surprised at herself for getting the words out, knowing she was treading into territory she didn’t belong. But the wine made her feel bolder, the events of the day having shaken her up enough so that she already felt exposed. Really, what did she have to lose?

“ _Really,_ Granger? You’re in my kitchen, drinking my wine, while I make dinner and you want to talk about Millicent?” Pansy didn’t turn, evenly chopping a sweet potato with a rather large knife. Hermione noted how she used only used Bulstrode’s first name, the past familiarity and intimacy between them evident in the tone of her voice. For some reason, it grated on her. 

“I didn’t mean to overhear.” Hermione shrugged, “Did you want help, by the way?”

“Absolutely not. You’d lose a finger at the rate you’re at.” Pansy finally glanced over her shoulder, sliding the contents of the cutting board into the pot she had simmering over the stove. 

“Not true, but anyways,” Hermione objected, though Pansy had a point. “Why don’t you use charms to cook?”

“I like the ritual of cooking, it’s calming,” Pansy supplied. Hermione nodded, the image of Pansy Parkinson methodically chopping vegetables something she never thought she’d see. 

“You avoided my question, by the way,” Hermione pointed out, trying to redirect the conversation back to what she had wanted to know. 

“That wasn’t a question, it was a statement.”

“So you _did_ have something with Bulstrode.” Hermione tapped the counter triumphantly.

“Really not sure how that’s any of your business, Granger.” Pansy stirred the contents of the pot, doing her best to look uninterested. Hermione could see the walls going back up. The softer Pansy that she had seen after Bulstrode’s attack was slowly giving way back to the cold and distant woman she had met back in the Ministry’s conference room.

“It sounded like,” Hermione paused and stared down into her quickly emptying glass, “well, it sounded like you really had something with her.”

Pansy scoffed and set the spoon in her hand down on the counter. 

“Haven’t you ever been in a toxic relationship, Granger? Would you really want to talk about it? We had a history, alright?” 

“No,” Hermione murmured, feeling Pansy’s stare.

“No, what?” Pansy looked bewildered.

“I haven’t, I mean,” Hermione tucked a curl behind her ears, willing her blush to stop, “just casually, you know, and, even then, it’s not really as if…”

“Merlin Granger,” Pansy groaned, “don’t do this to me.” 

Hermione was thankful Pansy cut off her rambling. She could feel the words spilling out of her before she had time to stop them, coaxed on by the wine and the bond. Why in Merlin’s name was she admitting this to Parkinson, of all people? It’s not as if she had asked for Hermione’s rather dismal dating history. And what did she even have to admit, anyways? She thought back to her brief crush on Ron that had fizzled out as quickly as it started, their relationship too much like siblings. She thought of her attempts to get closer to Padma, how it had ended with a quick and hurried fuck, her back pressed against Padma’s closed door, only ever to watch as Padma adverted her gaze when they crossed paths afterwards. And then Bri. She thought they could really have something, at some point. Then there was Saoirse—did three dates count? But something solid, something real, finding someone that felt like home? 

“Here,” Pansy stood in front of her, gently removing the glass of wine from Hermione’s hand. Hermione tried to move it past her reach.

“I’m fine, Pansy.” 

“You sure? Because you just asked me about my relationship and then went absolutely silent when I asked about yours.” Pansy reached past Hermione and snatched the glass away, so close Hermione almost fell back.

“Alright, that—” Hermione huffed as she righted herself, “was rude.”

Pansy was leaning over the counter, smirking at Hermione.

“But not wrong, I assume.” 

She was near enough that Hermione caught the flecks of light green in her eyes, standing out against the darkness of her irises. Her brows were arched in question, looking smug.

“Not really your business,” Hermione grumbled in protest. Pansy threw her head back and laughed.

“Granger, _you_ brought this up. This wasn’t my idea of good conversation.”

“Merlin, why do you have to _do_ that?” Hermione leaned forward, feeling irritation scratching against the bond. 

“Do what, Granger?” 

“You just, everything I say, you turn on me somehow. It’s so frustrating, every time I try and talk to you, we just go in circles until—”

Pansy leaned in and closed the distance between them. Hermione’s mouth shut firmly, losing her words. Pansy’s face was inches from hers, daring her. On a whim, Hermione moved to close the gap. Her lips met Pansy’s in a second, feeling their warmth and softness against hers. Pansy’s hand moved to curl around the nape of Hermione’s neck, holding her steady. Hermione felt frozen, letting Pansy gently press against her, coaxing her lips open, pulling at her bottom lip. Hermione let herself melt into the kiss, the bond singing between them and warm pulses travelling between their magic. 

A moment later, Pansy pulled back. Hermione felt dazed, her head buzzing, her stomach churning. Her lips burned where Pansy had met them. The warmth that stole over her felt like it had been ripped away. 

“I—” Hermione watched as Pansy stood back up and moved towards the stove, easily picking up the spoon and continuing to stir.

“Don’t think about it too much, Granger. You talk too much, that did the trick.”

Hermione tried to respond but couldn’t. Pansy’s lips looked slightly swollen as well, flush against her pale skin. Where the bond had hummed, it now felt dulled, aching.


	7. Suspicion

Hermione couldn’t help but suspect that Pansy was toying with her. She had the ominous notion that she was a mouse trapped under a rather large paw, being batted around for the sake of watching her scramble. After their impromptu…kiss? Could she call it that? Pansy had retreated back into silence, and Hermione felt like she could barely parse a sentence together. Thankfully, eating had given her something to do, and Pansy’s stew was better than she had suspected. It quelled the wine and temporarily filled the ache that she felt. Unsurprisingly, she was drained. Her mind swam with images of runes, Millicent Bulstrode’s sneer, the plain walls of St. Mungo’s, and the outline of Pansy’s lips, illuminated by the soft light above the stove.

“Granger? Are you listening?”

Hermione looked up slowly, catching Pansy’s strange look. “Hmm?” Hermione ladled herself another bite.

“I was asking where you wanted to sleep. I don’t have a guest room but I’m fine to take the sofa. Only because of you know, after your day and all.” Pansy gestured towards Hermione, assuming she could fill in the rest.

“Oh,” Hermione gently laid her spoon back down, “so at the risk of sounding accommodating, you’re only graciously giving me your bedroom because your ex-girlfriend assaulted me today?” She watched as a muscle in Pansy’s jaw twitched.

“If you want the sofa that badly, you can have it.”

“Actually,” Hermione returned to her dinner, “your room sounds fine. Although I originally suspected you slept in a crypt, I’m sure I can survive a night just fine.”

Pansy let out a soft exhale and shook her head. “Merlin, Granger, if you weren’t such an uptight arse, I would’ve thought that was a decent joke.” 

Hermione barely let herself react to the jab, knowing Pansy enjoyed pushing her. “You know,” she talked through her last bite, “Gin and Luna, and even Draco and Harry, have these really lovely names for each other, Draco is always calling Harry ‘darling, this’ or ‘honey, that,’ and I always thought it would be nice to have that one day. Instead,” Hermione pushed her empty bowl away, “I’m temporarily bonded—through some fairly dark and ancient shit—to someone who dates psychopaths and calls me an arse.” 

Pansy hardly glanced up from her bowl. “And I see you’ve also picked up Draco’s flair for the dramatic.” 

“Hmm, yes,” Hermione sighed, stretched out her arms and yawned loudly, “and I’m sure that bed will be fabulous tonight. Enjoy the leather sofa though. Seems very…” Hermione waved at Pansy’s partially-attired Unspeakable uniform, “on trend for you, I think.”

Hermione ignored the uncomfortable pangs coming from the bond, the feeling almost like someone slowly twisting the skin on her arms and drilling at her temples, and removed herself quickly from the table. She felt smug as she heard nothing but silence behind her. This had to be a victory, right? As she climbed the stairs near Pansy’s front room, she realized that their attempts at communication had largely been, well, unsuccessful seemed like a generous term. 

Steeling herself against any notions of regret, Hermione stood on the top landing and eyed the two doors in front of her. One door was ajar, and pushing it open carefully, she assumed she had found Pansy’s room. Understandably so, being inside Pansy’s room felt like an odd intrusion. As she took in the room, she could hear the soft clanging of dishes being washed below her. It was similar to the living room, the wooden beams from below continued up and across the ceiling, the walls were a greying and exposed brick, and the bed was low to the ground, decently sized, and it was—after Hermione sat on its edge—extremely comfortable. And it smelt like Pansy, like lavender with a hint of cedarwood. On the wall beside the bed a large painting was framed. An old countryside manor painted in dark greys, blacks, and faded greens for the garden. Hermione wondered it if had been her childhood home. The feeling that she was intruding on Pansy’s personal space came back in force. It felt wrong, getting these small glimpses of Pansy’s life. It made her feel more normal and human in a way Hermione wasn’t yet sure how to handle. Deciding her curiosity was done for the day, Hermione made her way towards the bathroom, transfiguring a roll of toilet paper into a clean toothbrush. The lack of planning on her part really was frustrating. No pajamas, no toiletries, and digging around in Pansy’s bathroom for essentials seemed like a poor decision. She had already begrudgingly gone through one of her drawers to find an old t-shirt to sleep in, refusing to sleep in her blood-flecked jeans and jumper. 

-

Hours later, Hermione was still wide awake. It was hardly half past ten, but the dark of Pansy’s bedroom felt suffocating. The bond itched at her relentlessly, the distance between them aggravating it more and more. She rubbed at her eyes and felt a sheen of sweat across her forehead. She was also beginning to feel just a hint of guilt from earlier. Storming off after Pansy had made her dinner and offered her the bed seemed a little impulsive when she looked back. And sleeping in Pansy’s bed felt beyond strange. Even thinking of Pansy felt like a moderately dangerous subject at this point in the night, and sleeping in her bed, pressed against pillows that smelt like her, was definitely not helping. Hermione tried to conceptualize all the horrid things Pansy had said to her over the past few days, letting the insults and outbursts slowly roll through her mind so she could catalogue them. With them surfaced the things she had said in return, the ways she had acted out in anger. 

A soft knock against the door startled her from her thoughts. The door gently pushed open, and Hermione could make out Pansy’s dark outline in the frame, backlit from the hallway light. 

“Hermione?” Pansy’s voice was quiet, testing to see if Hermione was awake. Hermione made a noise in response, suddenly very still. 

“Sorry, I’m just,” Pansy moved towards the dresser, “getting pajamas and bedding.”

“Oh,” Hermione half sat up in the bed, blinking against the light that trickled in. “I borrowed an old shirt of yours, I hope you don’t mind.”

Pansy turned to her, “You’re wearing my shirt?” She sounded incredulous. 

“Erm,” Hermione bit at the inside of her cheek, unable to read Pansy’s expression in the dark, “yeah, sorry. Thought you wouldn’t mind.”

Pansy stared at her quietly for a moment before turning back to her dresser, “No, that’s fine.” 

“Actually, Pansy,” Hermione was fully sitting up now, anxiously smoothing the bedsheet across her lap, “would you sit, for a second?” Pajamas in hand, Pansy sighed as she sat on the opposite side and faced her.

“Right, well, I was thinking, given our situation,” Hermione waited for Pansy to nod, “that it might be easier if we worked with the bond, rather than against it, at least until, you know.” 

“Where are you going with this, Granger?” Pansy stared at Hermione with half-closed eyes, clearly exhausted. 

Hermione groaned, “Just, listen, don’t sleep on the sofa, that’s silly. This is your home, after all. And this bloody bond is really, and I mean _really_ grating on me with the distance. And we’re adults. I think we can handle sharing a bed if it means we get a decent sleep. We can do the pillow divide and everything.” Hermione moved to line two pillows down the middle of the bed in a show of goodwill. 

“Alright, alright,” Pansy held up her hand, “I get it, Granger. I think it’s just better if we stick to the plan tonight.”

“Oh, no, you’re right.” Hermione smiled and tried to catch herself before her emotions careened off the edge. Embarrassment curled in her belly and she felt utterly stupid. 

“Well, if that’s everything then.” Pansy started to stand before Hermione spoke up.

“Just, before you go…tomorrow’s Wednesday.”

“Great.” Pansy peered at Hermione strangely.

“Wednesday’s are our weekly dinners.” Hermione waited for Pansy to realize what she meant. 

“No.” Pansy sounded more awake now, almost backing off the bed, and Hermione quickly put her hand out.

“Okay, listen.” Hermione played with the edge of the covers as she tried to steady herself. She knew she needed Pansy’s cooperation if she wanted to go, even if she didn’t want her there in theory. But she felt ready to see her friends after the day, and wanted this small part of routine in her life to stay. 

“I never miss Wednesday dinners. Ever. It’s the most normalcy I have in my life. It’ll only be a few hours, and I’ll owe you one.” 

Pansy exhaled for a long moment, Hermione watching as Pansy ran her hand through her hair, the dark strands falling through her fingers and down against her cheek.

“Fine, Granger. But only because I assume both Draco and Potter will be on my case if I say no.” 

Hermione grinned in response as Pansy stood and her frame disappeared behind the door, closing it softly behind her.

-

“Thanks, Pansy.”

Harry accepted the cup of tea Pansy offered him as he sat in the middle of her sofa across from Pansy and Hermione at midday. He looked rather serious in his official Ministry robes, and Hermione sighed down at her own attire, still in the shirt she had slept in, though messily tucked into her jeans from the day before. Pansy looked considerably more put together in dark tailored jeans and a black jumper, which Hermione eyed enviously. Though she did look a little stiff. She occasionally stretched her back during their conversation, cracking her joints and sighing. Hermione tried not to smirk. She didn’t usually enjoy the discomfort of others, but knowing Pansy was uncomfortable from sleeping on the couch made her feel mildly better about the throbbing headache she had woken up with. 

Harry had come half an hour before to give them both an update. Hermione sat patiently through Harry’s recounting of yesterday’s events, listening to how Millicent Bulstrode had been arrested soon after the attack, the various charges Hermione could bring against her, the ripples it had sent through the DMLE. As Harry talked, Hermione occasionally stole glances at Pansy. Her jaw was set in a firm line, stoically listening to Harry and showing little reaction to the news. Once Harry had finished, the three of them sat in brief silence.

“Harry, do you think,” Pansy paused, gauging her words, “I have a theory that perhaps the curse has a latent effect on those around us.” 

Harry nodded thoughtfully at Pansy’s question, and Hermione glanced back and forth between the two of them, her eyes widening.

“I’m sorry, Harry, do you really believe that? There’s no way. No one around me has been affected.” Hermione struggled to keep her voice level.

“Well,” Pansy looked as if she was taking pains to be delicate, “I think we know there might be a reason for that.”

“Just a theory though, surely.” Harry quickly cut in, speaking up before Hermione could respond. 

“Seems a bit early to be such an ass.” Hermione muttered to herself and slumped back into the armchair. What was Pansy playing at? She had seemed angry at the Ministry, but now she was suggesting Bulstrode had been influenced somehow by the curse? Although she knew she shouldn’t be, she couldn’t help but feel mildly betrayed. Pansy didn’t owe her anything, but Hermione wasn’t about to let Pansy excuse Bulstrode’s behaviours.

“I’ll be pressing charges, of course.” Hermione announced to the room, startling Harry and Pansy out of an apparent discussion they were having.

“Right, Hermione. Absolutely,” Harry adjusted quickly, shifting his tone softer, “once the investigation into what happens wraps up, I’ll make sure you get a say.” 

Hermione nodded and avoided Pansy’s stare. “Thanks, Harry.”

“I should be getting back to the Ministry though. Pansy, thanks again for the tea. I heard I’ll be seeing you both tonight…?” Harry stood and shook Pansy’s hand as Hermione moved towards him, gently squeezing his arm and accepting his hug. She leaned into the feel of his arms snugly around her, momentarily losing herself in the comfort of his presence. Though she felt the bond twinge at their touch, she gripped him for a moment longer. Harry had always felt comforting to her, like throwing on an old favourite jumper and remembering how cozy it felt every time. His friendship kept her sane half the time, and she clung to him as long as she could.  
“It’ll be alright, we’ll figure this out.” Harry breathed into her ear before releasing her, while Hermione discreetly wiped away the tear that collected at the corner of her eye with the back of her wrist. Harry patted her arm comfortingly before he said his final goodbyes and disappeared into the floo.

-

Hermione actively avoided Pansy for the rest of the afternoon. Thankfully, Pansy seemed to be avoiding her too. Pansy sat in the kitchen, books in front of her, a cup of black coffee pinning down the letter Croaker had sent that morning by owl with research updates on the case. Hermione took over the living room, burying herself in a thick volume about Orkney’s magical past. When the clock ticked at half past five, Hermione reluctantly gathered together her notes in a neat pile and emerged from the living room.

“We should leave soon.” She moved past Pansy quickly as she made her way upstairs, as Pansy’s head shot up in response.

“Fine, I’ll be up in a minute.”

Hermione was standing in the centre of Pansy’s room when she joined her, hearing her soft footsteps behind her.

“I need to borrow clothes, sorry. We can…I don’t know, sleep at mine tonight or at least get some of my things.” Hermione picked at the side of her jeans in irritation. “Do you have anything that’ll fit me?”

Hermione felt Pansy’s eyes on her, briefly looking her over. “Yeah, give me a second.”

Thankful for Pansy’s willingness to let her borrow something, Hermione sat heavily against the edge of the bed and waited. She was fairly sure Pansy _wouldn’t_ have something that fit her exactly, but this seemed like the quickest and most painless option. Pansy had at least five or six inches on her, and she was all legs and toned from keeping up with Unspeakable training. Hermione, on the other hand, spent a lot of time curled up on her sofa, though she didn’t mind her soft edges. 

“Here.” Pansy ducked out of her closet, tossing a pair of pants and a blouse at Hermione. She just barely caught them in time, holding them up against her.

“Pansy, is this…like a snakeskin pattern?” Hermione looked closely at the blouse Pansy had thrown at her, noting a subtle black snakeskin print. Pansy rolled her eyes and shut her closet doors.

“Sorry to disappoint, Granger. It’ll fit you.”

Hermione waited until Pansy was out of the bedroom before slipping on the blouse, cuffing the sleeves until they sat comfortably at her wrists. She pulled on the dark woven joggers and held her breath as she slid them up and over her hips, thankful they had some stretch. She rolled the bottoms so they didn’t drag on the floor and refused to glance at the floor-length mirror Pansy had in the corner, knowing she probably looked ridiculous.

“Alright, we should go!” Hermione pushed open the door and started down the stairs, though Pansy was already standing at the bottom waiting. Pansy’s eyes followed her as she made her way down, and Hermione felt the flush start at her neck again.

“This is a good look for you, Granger.” Pansy grinned and Hermione sucked in a breath but ignored her comment, unsure if it was sincere or not.

“I can apparate us there, we’re at Gin and Luna’s tonight.” Hermione held her arm out and felt instead Pansy’s hand wrap around hers. Her fingers felt cool but firm against her skin. Little pricks of pleasure rolled up her arm, the bond thrumming between them at their touch. 

With a gripping pull against her stomach, Hermione felt her and Pansy jolt from their spot in Pansy’s front room until they were standing in front of Ginny and Luna’s home. Hermione relaxed at the familiarity of the sight. From where they stood, she could see their small and neat garden nestled against their house, a soft glow of warm light from the window bathing the rows of vegetables in a gentle haze. 

“Merlin, this is…disgustingly cute.” Pansy glanced around the yard, ignoring Hermione’s sharp retort as she followed her to the door. Hermione knocked softly but the door swung open on impact, and the two of them stepped inside.

“Hermione!” Ginny’s head popped around the corner, waving them in. “Parkinson, glad you could join. Lock the door behind you, you’re the last here.” Hermione obeyed and quickly clicked the lock behind them, toeing off her shoes. The smell of freshly baked bread hung sweetly in the air, and Hermione could barely help the grin that spread across her face.

“Ouch, _fuck,_ are those shells?” She heard Pansy trip behind her, stubbing her foot on one of Luna’s collections spread across the floor. 

“Don’t break anything.” Hermione hissed over her shoulder towards Pansy, though she could feel a wave of pain through the bond. 

Ginny was right, they were the last ones there. Luna and Neville were seated at the kitchen table, Neville with a small rootless plant in his hands, Luna bent over to examine it. Draco was standing near Ginny in the kitchen. A towel was thrown across his shoulder as he bickered with her about how to serve dinner. Ginny waved to Hermione from her place over the stove, the heat frizzing the edges of her long braid. Harry and Ron were stationed at the other side of the kitchen, nursing a pair of Butterbeers. And between them was…Theo? 

Hermione felt Pansy stop short behind her, almost knocking into her back.

“Theo? Hi?” Pansy’s hands centred on Hermione’s shoulders, gently pushing her to the side as she moved towards Theo, pulling him into a short hug that both of them stepped away from rather quickly.

“Hi Pans, erm, Harry invited me.” Theo’s eyes shifted between Pansy, Harry, and Ron. Harry smiled at him encouragingly, but Ron looked vaguely suspicious. 

“At my request!” Ginny shouted from the kitchen, spatula in hand. Luna glanced up from the commotion and smiled at the new guests, nodding along.

“Safety in numbers, right Pansy?” Draco winked at her over Ginny’s shoulder, barely dodging Ginny’s spatula. 

“That’s…very kind of you.” Pansy blinked in surprise, taking the Butterbeer that Harry offered her as she joined the small group. Seeing an out, Hermione moved towards Neville and Luna at the table.

“Hi Nev, Hi Luna.” She pecked both of their cheeks before pulling a chair over. 

“Was just showing Luna the new Dittany plant I’ve grown.” Neville eagerly held up the small-leafed plant in his palms. Luna looked at it appraisingly before turning to Hermione.

“It’s actually a Disappearing Firefig tree, it’ll be gone in hours.” She whispered seriously, though Neville sighed in exasperation behind her.

“Luna, I promise you, it won’t disappear.” 

Hermione stifled a laugh but shrugged in response. Luna had a way of being right about most things, though she was fairly sure Neville had her on this one. 

“Good to see you guys.” Hermione settled in her chair, smiling between them. Though she felt like her world had flipped on its head recently, here were her friends, unchanged. Neville still in a thick-knit jumper, his jeans faded and grass-stained on the knees. Luna in her favourite wide-leg tweed trousers and a soft floral-patterned shirt, her curls dishevelled but perfect nonetheless. 

“You too, ‘Mione. You look good.” Neville patted her on the knee in support.

“Actually, you look a little frazzled, Hermione. But you’ve got a bit of a glow.” Luna reached out and sprung one of Hermione’s loose black curls around her finger, smiling as it bounced back into place. Neville ribbed her gently with his elbow as Hermione laughed him off.

“Fair enough, Luna. I’m just going to say hi to Gin.” She left the two of them at the table and made her way towards Ginny and Draco. 

“Ginny, listen to me. You can’t put the gravy on early, no—Ginny—listen! It’ll ruin the—the spring!” Draco tried to wrestle the bowl of sauce from Ginny’s arms before she quickly dropped generous spoonfuls on plates of steak pie. 

“Draco, I swear if you make me spill this—oh, Hermione!” Ginny switched from pulling at the bowl to shoving it back into Draco’s arms, wiping her hands on an apron tied around her waist before pulling Hermione into a long hug.

“How’re you doing, love?” Ginny gripped Hermione tightly. Hermione returned the hug, only glancing up when they released each other. From across the room, seemingly engaged in a conversation with Theo, Ron, and Harry, Pansy was staring unblinkingly at Hermione. Quickly diverting her eyes, Hermione turned so Pansy was out of her line of sight.

“Today’s been better, Gin. One day at a time.” 

“Good,” Ginny squeezed Hermione’s upper arms, the freckles along her nose crinkling as she leaned in. “Just so you know, the minute the Ministry is done with Bulstrode, Ron and I will pull her apart.” 

“Gin, really, no threatening to kill anyone tonight. But, actually…” Hermione quickly pulled Ginny through the kitchen, past Draco, and into the large pantry. Stacks of cans and large bags of flour surrounded them, light only streaming in through the slats of the pantry doors. 

“Okay, listen to this.” Hermione kept her tone hushed but started talking increasingly fast. “Okay, so, when Harry came by this morning, Pansy mentioned to him she thought the curse might have affected Bulstrode, and that’s why she attacked me. Don’t you think that’s odd? Sort of like she’s trying to get her off the hook? Why d’you think she’d do that?” Hermione searched Ginny’s eyes, looking for reassurance.

“Erm,” Ginny paused, “I mean, maybe? Harry mentioned to me the two of them dated before. It sounded like it was a pretty long-term relationship. She’s probably just surprised Millicent would act like that, especially at the Ministry.”

“Right, sure, but d’you think she’s protecting her because she still has feelings for her?”

“Oh, ‘Mione.” Ginny sighed and gently held Hermione’s face in her hands. “She might. Who knows? I think you’re just upset. And rightly so. What happened to you wasn’t okay. And I understand why you’d want Pansy to seem like she’s fully supporting you. And her suggesting that Millicent wasn’t acting of her own accord probably makes you feel like she’s not, right?”

Hermione nodded reluctantly, thankful that Ginny always seemed able to wade through her thoughts and pull out her true feelings.

“You’re allowed to feel that way, ‘Mione. Though I think reading too far into Pansy’s intentions probably isn’t going to help. Have you tried talking to her about it?”

“Uh, no, not exactly.” Hermione tried to shrug casually but she knew Ginny was on to something. “I just don’t feel like I can, Gin. We’re not friends, Pansy said so herself. We’re just…I don’t know, two cursed individuals unfortunately thrown into this awful situation together. I’m just trying to get through each day. But—okay, don’t tell anyone this. I have to tell someone though. Last night, she kissed me. At least I think she did.”

Ginny’s eyes widened as she pushed a few red hairs from her eyes, looking shocked.

“No!” She whispered hoarsely, her mouth fighting to remain neutral and not break into a grin. “Are you…okay with that?”

“Well,” Hermione groaned, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “Gin, that’s the thing. I kissed her too. I don’t know! It was over before it started!”

Ginny muffled her squeal into her arm and started peppering her with questions.

“Okay, sorry, okay, back up. How did this happen?”

“In her kitchen, last night. I was…honestly, a little far gone on wine. But I kept asking her about Bulstrode. I wanted to know. And suddenly her face was in front of mine, and we kissed.” Hermione spread her hands upwards, feeling flustered.

“Hermione, don’t you think that…I don’t know, means something? You try and ask about her ex-girlfriend, and she kisses you?”

“Yeah, but the next morning she’s practically asking Harry for a pardon on her behalf!” Hermione fought to keep her voice at a whisper. 

“I don’t know, Hermione. Maybe the bond is doing some odd things. I noticed when you first walked in she was…looking at you. Differently.”

“Like what?” Hermione’s voice had a faint quiver to it, but she blamed it on the strain from trying to keep her voice low.

“Like she didn’t hate you. Like she was almost, I don’t know, she looked at you like how I catch Harry looking at Draco. Or how Neville looks at his plants sometimes.” Ginny shrugged but Hermione nodded seriously.

“Probably just the bond though, right?” She breathed.

“‘Mione, can I ask you something?” Ginny waited for Hermione to murmur her okay. “If you had never met Pansy before, if she hadn’t been such an ass to you during school, and none of this curse shit happened, what would you think?”

“About Pansy? What would I think?” Hermione looked briefly startled as she considered the question. “I don’t know, besides the fact that she looks like she could kick my ass?”

Ginny choked out a laugh. “‘Mione, come on, you underestimate yourself. I’ve seen you in a fight. But no, honestly. What would you think?” Hermione sighed.

“She’s fit, I suppose.”

“Ah, see, there you go.” Ginny poked her playfully in the ribs while Hermione swatted her hand away.

“Stop, stop, I know what you’re doing. It doesn’t matter, Gin! Yes, obviously, she’s fit. You’ve seen her. She looks like she bathes in the bloody fountain of youth in the morning, though lacking a little sun. None of it matters. We can barely spend an hour together without biting each other’s head off. And I’ll do everything, and I mean _everything_ I can do end this bond.” 

Ginny squeezed Hermione’s hand and smiled at her gently. 

“I know, ‘Mione. And I’m confident you will. You’ve never come across a curse you couldn’t break. All I’m saying is, you don’t have to be miserable in the meantime. Don’t punish yourself for the things you can’t change. Okay?”

Hermione blew out the breath she was holding in and squeezed Ginny’s hand in return.

“Thanks, Gin. I’ll try, and—”

The pantry door suddenly slid open, blasting the pair of them with bright light. 

“Um, hi, dinner, remember?” Draco poked his head in, glaring back and forth between them. Ginny laughed and pushed her way through. 

“You know, Ginny, we wouldn’t be in a rush if you just waited on the gravy—”

Draco trailed behind as Ginny started calling everyone towards the table as she expertly stacked plates along her arm. Hermione steadied herself, smoothed down a few loose curls, and stepped out from the pantry. Immediately, her eyes found Pansy. She was standing on the other side of the table beside Theo, but her head shot up the moment Hermione emerged. She stared intently, mouthing _‘What was that?’_ at her, her chin jutting towards the pantry Hermione had just stepped out from. Waves of irritation reached her through the bond. Hermione rolled back her shoulders and carefully kept her expression neutral. _‘Nothing.’_ She mouthed back, ignoring the way Pansy’s eyes narrowed at her answer as she moved towards the table. She hoped dinner proved enough of a distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! having mixed feelings about this chapter but here it is, done, so it is what it is. Things should start moving along a little quicker soon


	8. Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter beta'd by the amazing Szuvern xx

Dinner was going off without a hitch, relatively speaking. Hermione was keeping her mouth firmly shut, nodding along to the vague conversations going back and forth about Quidditch teams, Neville’s discussion about the end of planting season, his woes with the new crop of first years at Hogwarts (they still hadn’t mastered the lesson on Mandrakes, apparently), and Draco’s hot takes about various Ministry gossip. 

“So, Theo, you work with Pansy at the Ministry?” Neville leaned over Luna to grab the salt, nodding across the table towards Theo. Theo was dressed more formally than the rest of the group, looking vaguely uncertain about why he had been invited. 

“Yeah, Pansy and I actually started our training together.” Theo sunk his knife into the pie in front of him. “I think I got her into the idea, actually.”

“Hang on, sorry.” Pansy, who was seated directly beside him, turned to him and shook her head. “I absolutely got you into it. Don’t you remember I practically had to drag you to training the first few months?” Pansy pointed the knife in her hand towards him to emphasize her point, and Theo rolled his eyes and used his index finger to push her knife down towards her plate. Hermione followed their moves from her spot across the table, noting how at ease Pansy became the minute she was talking to Theo. 

“And what exactly is it you do there, mate?” Ron, seated at the end of the table, glanced between them. He still looked a little suspicious at having them there. Pansy and Theo both paused and looked at a loss.

Theo stared, “Well, actually, that’s the—”

“They can’t talk about work, Weasel, that’s the whole point.” Draco huffed into his plate as Ginny snorted into her Butterbeer. 

“I’m sure it’s all very interesting,” Luna supplied. “Hermione, have you had to take a break from writing?” 

“Just until this is sorted, I think,” she mumbled into her plate. Luna had always been good about keeping up with her research and writing, but the reminder that her project was on an indefinite hiatus was a painful reminder.

“It’ll be wonderful, when it’s done.” Neville smiled at Hermione, sympathy evident in his eyes. “Hagrid is still using _The Rights of Magical Creatures_ you know, it’s required reading for all fifth years. McGonagall was telling me a lot of the content is actually part of the OWLs now.”

“Really?” Hermione had known Hagrid was using her work, but she hadn’t been told that it was actually being tested. Pride welled gently in her chest. 

“What’s this about?” Pansy asked, only half-listening to the conversation. At her question, the table fell into a brief silence. 

“It’s, erm, Hermione’s book.” Neville glanced between Hermione and Pansy; the former was staring at her plate with burning cheeks, the latter looking mildly confused. 

“Oh, right,” Pansy replied, seemingly unaware of the uncomfortable quiet. 

“You didn’t know Hermione wrote a book on the rights of magical creatures?” Ron arched a bushy red eyebrow, surprise evident in his tone. 

Pansy smiled tightly in response. “I’m not always up to speed with the latest literary updates on magical creatures, no.”

Hermione internally groaned, quietly hoping Ron dropped the subject. Was she surprised Pansy hadn’t read her books? Not in the least. But that didn’t dull the twinge of disappointment that caught in her throat. The bond felt unnervingly tight between them, and Hermione tried to force the feeling down.

“Well, I’m sure we all have a copy you can borrow,” Ginny added, her voice a little too bright. “Anyways, Theo, how’s the research on the case going?” Ginny tried to look as casual as possible as she pushed her dinner around her plate and nodded towards Theo.

“You mean on the case?” Theo’s brows knit together as he returned her stare. Hermione kicked Harry’s foot gently under the table, wondering what the hell Ginny was up to.

“Well, I actually think we’ve come to a bit of a roadblock at this point. We’re looking into having a team retrace the steps of the items in hopes of—”

“You’re going to Scotland?” Hermione tightened her grip on her fork until her knuckles paled.

“Right,” Theo tried again, “Croaker was thinking of having a few of us go together—”

“Us?” Pansy cut in, ignoring Theo’s exasperated look. “No one told me about this.”

“Well, not yet,” Theo sighed, “but Harry mentioned the possibility of a few Aurors—”

“Harry, you knew about this?” Hermione turned fully in her seat to look at Harry, eyes narrowed. 

“Honestly Hermione, I only spoke with Croaker about it today. It seems like a logical step.” Harry nudged Hermione’s foot in return, trying to stop what was quickly becoming an interrogation.

“Well, when do we leave, then? Assuming I’m coming.” Pansy crossed one long leg over the other and leaned back in her chair.

“Croaker and I agreed it would better if you both stayed here. Theo will lead a team of Unspeakables and a few of our Aurors.” Harry kept his tone light as he glanced around the table, hoping someone would jump in and steer the conversation elsewhere. 

“Wait,” Ron swallowed his bite as realization dawned on him slowly, “am I on this alleged trip?”

“I was going to ask you about it tomorrow.” Harry exhaled deeply and pushed his glasses up, his fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He had been playing with his hair, adding to his look of exasperation. 

“I’m sorry, Weasley is going, and I’m not?” Pansy shook her head in disbelief. 

“She’s got a point,” Draco piped up, ignoring Ron’s scoff and Harry’s glare. 

“Not helping, love.” Harry shot Draco a glance. “We thought it might be a liability if the two of you were there. Anyways, it’s just an information gathering trip.”

“Harry, I know more about our case than anyone. I think its pertinent that I be there.” Hermione’s voice was edged with impatience.

“Sounds like a lovely holiday,” Luna smiled as she refilled her and Ginny’s glass with Butterbeer, “we should all go.”

Harry leaned across Neville to shake his head. “No offence Luna, but that’s not happening. I’m not even going. Like I said, Croaker and I still need to finalize the plans.”

“If the plans aren’t finalized, I’m sure there will be no issue in having us join.” Pansy’s voice was careful but firm, her gaze fixed on Harry.

“Pansy, this is between Croaker and I, to be honest.” Harry sounded wary.

“Understandable, Harry. However, as this case directly affects Granger and myself, I think we have some sway here. And Hermione’s right, she’s the most knowledgeable about the case. I’ll talk to Croaker about it tomorrow.” Pansy smiled tightly across the table at Harry, her tone insinuating that the conversation had been settled. 

Hermione felt a tightening in her throat and quickly sipped her Butterbeer to keep herself from grinning. Was Pansy actually agreeing with her? Hermione looked down into her drink to avoid looking around the table. Harry was, after all, the head of the DMLE. And as much as she respected Harry’s opinion, she felt a little jolt when Pansy had vouched for her.

“Anyways, Gin, I hear you’re playing Puddlemere next week.” Neville, trying his best to break the uncomfortable tension that had settled over the table, spoke up in earnest.  
“Yeah, haven’t played them in ages. Will be good to see Wood again. We’ll crush them though, of course.” Ginny grinned at Neville, ignoring Ron’s grumbling.

“The Cannons are still licking their wounds from last week.” Draco, an unlikely fan of the Harpies and one of Ginny’s biggest supporters from the stands, raised his glass in triumph. 

“They played a good game though,” Theo added, earning a laugh from Draco. Hermione glanced up and watched as Ron’s cheeks flushed bright red.

“You’re a Cannons fan?” He was staring wide-eyed at Theo as if seeing him in a new light. 

“Always had a soft spot for the Cannons, and I think I look rather good in orange.” Theo smirked across the table as Draco raised his eyes to the ceiling and loudly groaned. Hermione couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. She still hadn’t looked up at Harry or Pansy, feeling safer glancing between Ron and Theo.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Draco hissed.

“Alright, dessert, anyone?” Ginny stood up and Luna followed suit, mentioning she’d put the kettle on.

-

“Thanks for everything, Gin.” Hermione gripped Ginny to her tightly before stepping away. Draco hovered over them.

“I’ll, you know,” he waved his hand before he leaned in and kissed the air beside Hermione’s cheek, “I’ll talk to him, he’ll come around.” On instinct, he reached forward and tucked one of her curls behind her ear affectionately. 

“Would you?” Hermione murmured as she watched Harry chatting quietly down the hallway with Neville. “It’s important that we go. He’s not usually so…stubborn.” 

“You know how he is,” Draco straightened himself and brushed at the front of his shirt, “he’ll change his mind with a little pressure. Although I think Pansy all but threatened him.” 

Pansy, standing by the door, exhaled in laughter. “It’s not a threat, Draco, like you said – just pressure.” She was leaning against the doorframe, waiting for Hermione to finish the last of her goodbyes. 

Hermione waved as Draco closed the front door behind them, the outline through the window of Ginny and Luna tidying up the kitchen casting long shadows across the yard. They walked the short distance to Hermione’s in relative silence. Hermione yawned and rubbed at the back of her neck, feeling virtually drained from the night’s conversations. 

“Isn’t it ever a bit much, living this close to them?” Pansy jutted her chin towards Hermione’s home, a stone’s throw away.

“I wanted to be this close.” Hermione hugged her arms around her jumper, shrugging. “They’re my family, I wanted them near.” 

“And you don’t have family…elsewhere?” Pansy waited beside Hermione as she pressed through the wards around her home and let them through the door. 

Hermione glanced over her shoulder, perplexed. “I do.” She opened her mouth to fill in the details but found herself unwilling to divulge the reality of her relationship with her parents to Pansy. She couldn’t help the suspicion that lingered in her mind whenever Pansy decided to ask anything vaguely personal. And after tonight, it felt too vulnerable to admit that she hadn’t been unable to reverse the memory charm she used on them. She still visited them, though only once a year due to the distance. She had convinced them that she was a distant cousin, and they had been polite and welcoming to her when she came by. They were happy though. Their lives in Australia were rich and full, but the ache Hermione felt when thinking of them was almost unbearable. The idea of sharing that with Pansy felt like exposing a part of her that she had protected for so long. 

Pansy cleared her throat, pushing past Hermione into the hallway. “Apparently not,” she murmured. Hermione had been unaware that Pansy felt her grief through the bond, but she looked unwilling to push Hermione for more information. 

“Yeah, well.” Hermione inhaled deeply and shrugged into the darkness.

“You don’t really have anyone of your own, do you?” Pansy was closer than Hermione had expected. The question felt intrusive, but Hermione thought she heard softness behind her voice.

“That’s not true,” she bristled, “I have Harry, Ron, Gin, Lun—"

“That’s not what I meant, Granger,” Pansy sighed. 

Unprepared for Pansy’s sudden nosiness, Hermione huffed quietly and turned to face her. “Listen,” she pushed off her shoes one by one with the edge of her heel, “I don’t need your vague and confusing statements about my life, alright? You don’t know me, Pansy. You barely even know what I do.” She shrugged off her coat and threw it with some force into her closet.

“Merlin, Granger, is this because I hadn’t read your book?” Pansy flicked her wand towards the nearest lamp, the glow filling up the hallway. 

Hermione, arms now devoid of a coat, stood awkwardly. Her hands hung at her side, fingers curling and uncurling soundlessly. Pansy was looking at her strangely. The skeptical look she wore had faded to vague uncertainty as Hermione faced her in the hallway. The light from the lamp caught the hollows and dips of Pansy’s features, casting a long shadow under the edge of her cheekbone, under the sharpness of her chin. 

“Granger…” she started, trailed off. Hermione met her gaze. Pansy’s eyes, so green and dense in their darkness, peered back at her. The thought that her eyes looked like the surface of the Great Lake in winter drifted into Hermione’s mind and back out. 

“Granger, are you…” Pansy tried again, her uncertainty changing into discomfort. She felt Pansy reach out through the bond—tentative—grasping at her emotion. Hermione felt as if a string tied in the middle of her chest was being tugged, pulled forward, out of her body. 

“You’re hurt,” Pansy whispered, her lips pursed in question.

“I’m not h—”

“You’re hurt,” she stated. She stepped, uninvited, closer. 

Ignoring Pansy’s statement, Hermione clenched her fingers tightly up into her palms, pressing half-moons into her flesh. “I have people, in my life, you know. And I have work that I love, and I feel very lucky.”

Pansy bristled in response. “Good,” she remarked tightly. The concern that flecked through her eyes changed to a reserved hardness. “And you should know, not everything I ask you is a personal attack, Granger.”

Hermione tossed her braid back off her shoulder, still indignant. “Good,” she agreed. 

“Granger, are you really going to punish me for not having read your books?”

“I’m not punishing you.” Hermione leaned against the wall, her eyes closing in frustration. “I shouldn’t be the surprised that the _very_ busy and great _Unspeakable_ Pansy _Parkinson_ was too busy to notice an old school foe had found mild success in her literary career.” 

“Spare me, Granger. You didn’t even know I worked for the Ministry, despite your best friend practically running the show. Everyone you associate with seems to have a foot in the door. Do you have any idea what I’ve been doing the past eight years while you’ve enjoyed your retirement from heroics, sipping tea and writing books?”

“Hardly fair of you, Pansy,” Hermione spat out. The tiredness that had hung off her bones lifted, and she felt herself lean into the brewing fight, revelling in it, wanting to slip back into the familiarity of arguing that they had quickly established. 

“Isn’t it, Granger? I’ve had to fight and scrap to even stay in this world.”

Hermione laughed, a barking and dry sound. Her eyes had flashed open and were boring through Pansy. “Really, Pansy? Determination, sure. But self-pity hardly works on you. Sorry you’ve had a hard few years. Not sure if you remember the part where you and your friends bullied me for six years. In fact, do you remember—” Hermione laughed again, shaking her head, “do you remember in fourth year, when Draco hexed me and my teeth grew past my chin and you stood there, bent over, laughing away? I spent the night in the hospital wing. Or,” Hermione began to list off her fingers, her tone rising steadily, “when you told Rita Skeeter that Harry and I were dating, just to humiliate us. Or—”

“Enough.” Pansy grit through her clenched jaw, cutting off Hermione’s sentence. “Didn’t think you were one to hold a grudge, Granger.” 

“I’m not,” Hermione hissed. They were staring at each other, ending up across from each other in the hallway. “But maybe you forgot the part afterwards where I gave up everything, everything, so the likes of you could even have the chance to enjoy your cushy Ministry job. A job you should be so lucky to have after practically offering up Harry for imminent death during the war. So maybe before I get your sob story about working hard, you’ll think about that.”

“The likes of me?” Pansy chuckled lowly. “Tell me, Granger, how do you really feel about the likes of me? Best friend to the saviour of the wizarding world, but still got chained to the daughter of a Death Eater? Must eat at you.” 

Hermione pushed herself off the wall, closing the distance between them in two steps.

“It does,” Hermione responded so quietly Pansy strained to hear her, “but I know it kills you just as much. I can feel it,” she breathed into the space between them, into the ache of the bond that felt pulled painfully taut. 

Unblinkingly, Hermione reached up, her hands trembling with both anger and nerves. Pansy gritted her teeth, as if she expected Hermione’s closed fist. Instead, her fingers found the crown of Pansy’s thick dark hair, running through it until her fingers curled under the blunt crop against her neck. She could almost feel Pansy’s soft gasp.

“You forget,” Hermione murmured, her confidence shaky but determined, “I can feel it too, Pansy.” Hermione’s hand, unsure where to rest, curved around the side of Pansy’s neck. Surprising Pansy gave Hermione the feeling of control. It felt like having the upper hand for once.

“And what is it you can feel, Granger?” Pansy whispered in response. Her voice sent a jolt of nerves down Hermione’s spine, equal parts coy and derisive. Hermione pressed forward, willing herself on.

“The want.” Her voice was soft and clear but her insides felt like they were on fire. She was so close, she was sure Pansy could feel her breath on her cheek. Her eyes tore away from where they had ghosted over the sharp and soft edges of Pansy’s face, finally meeting her gaze. She couldn’t read the darkness reflected, but between them, the bond reacted as if it had been sharply plucked like a string, just before it snapped.

And then Pansy’s hands were in her hair, gathering handfuls of curls and pulling Hermione flush against her. She moved so quickly that Hermione stumbled but braced herself against Pansy, tilting her face up so Pansy could cup a hand under her jaw. The ache pulsed between them as Hermione gasped into the press of Pansy’s lips against hers. The gentleness she had felt from her mouth the night before was gone, replaced with a raw craving that sent Pansy’s hands running down Hermione’s neck, her waist, the small of her back, the softened curve of her hip. 

Hermione felt like she was seconds from falling apart, the heat from Pansy’s hands searing hot trails across her skin. Hermione moved her own hands under the hem of Pansy’s shirt. Her skin felt cool and soft against her fingers as she ran them up to her waist, feeling each arch of her ribs and the dip in her lower back, so different from her own soft curves. As her hands moved, Pansy broke her mouth away to inhale deep and ragged breaths, hands still greedy in Hermione’s hair.

“Merlin, Granger.” She breathed into the hollow of her ear, her voice reaching Hermione through the fog. And it did feel like a fog, Hermione thought. And through it, Hermione felt like she was hurtling full on towards Pansy’s touch, her mouth against hers, the way she softly groaned when Hermione ran her thumb overtop her nipple. The bond seemed to surround them, coaxing them on. It sounded like rushing water in Hermione’s ears, enveloping them in a whirl before crashing around them.


	9. Ache

Hermione pressed up onto her toes, wanting to be closer to Pansy, wanting her mouth on her more fully. Pansy responded by cupping the edge of her cheek in her hand. She pulled her in, her fingers on the back of her neck, her thumb tight under Hermione’s jaw, feeling her quickening pulse. Her thumb ran over the thin ridge of the scar along her neck and Hermione shuddered in response.

“What’s this?” Pansy murmured as she pulled back slightly, ignoring Hermione’s unintentional whine at the sudden distance between them. 

“It’s nothing.” Hermione reached for Pansy again.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Pansy tilted Hermione’s head back, peering closer at the long scar that snaked across the expanse of her skin, pale and silvery. Leaning down, Pansy pressed her lips to the bottom of the scar where it trailed to an end in the middle of Hermione’s throat. Hermione’s breath caught in her chest as she let her head fall farther back. Pansy brushed the rest of Hermione’s curls gently away, her lips working up the scar, occasionally pausing as her tongue flickered over the raised flesh. When her mouth found the beginning of the mark, a clean slice that nestled behind the curve of Hermione’s ear, Hermione gripped onto Pansy to keep herself steady. Pansy mouthed the scar, the shell of her ear, pulling her lobe between her teeth hard before pressing delicate kisses to the soft skin between Hermione’s ear and her cheek. 

Hermione felt feverish under Pansy’s touch, almost delirious. The anger that had consumed her only moments before was still there but less immediate, now simmering under the surface of her pleasure. Pansy kept one hand firmly against Hermione’s jaw while the other pushed under her shirt. Hermione arched into her touch as Pansy’s fingers kneaded softly over one nipple before finding the other, her mouth light but firm against hers. Her touch was foreign, and Hermione gasped into Pansy’s mouth at the newness of her fingers against her skin. She pushed her tongue harder into Pansy’s mouth, needing to be closer.

“Pansy,” she whispered between breaths, “more, I need more.” She didn’t fully know what she was asking for, but her skin was on fire and the bond pulsed between them so tightly its energy made it feel almost visible. Hermione clutched at the back of Pansy’s neck only to feel herself become unwillingly pushed away. 

Pansy wrenched herself back, her breaths coming in short bursts. Hermione’s eyes blinked open, glazed and dilated. She felt like she had been plucked from the fire and thrust into a freezing lake, the absence of Pansy against her a cold shock.

“What the hell, Parkinson?” She turned her bewildered stare onto Pansy. She couldn’t read her expression, but her brows were pulled together, her jaw set. Through the bond, her emotions felt turbulent. The intensity made Hermione pause. 

“It’s the bond, Granger,” Pansy spoke through her teeth. She stared back with dark eyes. Her throat working as she swallowed. 

“What _about_ the bond?” Hermione was impatient. The lack of Pansy’s skin under her hands felt almost painful. All she could focus on was the need, the desire, the deliciousness of Pansy’s mouth on hers. She wanted—no—she _needed_ more.

But Pansy was working to put more distance between them, her voice insistent. “The other night, when I kissed you, I was just playing around. Seeing if I could get into your head. But this,” Pansy shook her head, ignoring the black curtain of hair that fell into her eyes, “this is different. You said so yourself you could feel something. This isn’t even what we really want.” 

Hermione steadied herself against the wall. Pansy’s words reached her slowly, echoing and ringing in the back of her mind. The anger that had bubbled below the surface now swam before Hermione’s eyes, enveloping her. 

“What _we_ really want? How would you know what _I_ want?” Hermione ran her tongue over her bottom lip. Pansy looked guarded; her shoulders were pulled back, her eyes unreadable. 

“Well, what do you want, Granger?”

“I don’t _know_!” Hermione threw her hands up. “Maybe you, if you’d pull your head out of your arse for even a second and realize it!” The moment the words escaped her, Hermione wished she could take them back. What had she just admitted to? Was that even the truth? 

“Look, Granger, I’m trying to do the honourable thing here. The bond is clearly influencing us, and once it’s broken, I don’t want you breathing down my neck if we do something you’ll regret.” Pansy had her hands spread out in front of her, almost like she was purposefully keeping space between them. Hermione felt her heart in her throat, watching as Pansy shot her strange looks.

“Honourable is hardly something you’d be used to.” Hermione’s upper lip curled as she snarled into the space between them, unleashing the floodgate of hurt that was building steadily in her chest. Pansy’s words circled and spun before her as she turned on her heel and strode towards the bottom of the stairs. _'I was just playing around…This isn’t even what we really want...I don’t want you breathing down my neck…if we did something you’ll regret.'_ Hermione bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to quell the spike of her anxiety. She tasted iron and bit harder. 

She whirled back towards Pansy suddenly, her voice firm but with an almost indistinguishable quiver. “And take your fucking boots off, that’s my favourite rug.” She heard Pansy’s surprised snort behind her but ignored it as she took the stairs two at a time, furious at throbbing ache from the bond and the burning and pulsing around her temples.

-

Hermione startled awake in the early morning, the night still black and heavy outside the window. The covers had fallen to the floor beside her but she still felt too hot, her nightshirt sticking to her skin. She stared into the darkness as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. She had dreamt of Pansy. Dreamt of her crowding Hermione against the front door of her home, of her lips warm against her neck. 

Hermione pressed her hands against her eyes in frustration and willed the images away. She was being ridiculous. Long moments passed as she stared up at the ceiling. Deciding she had enough waiting for sleep, she threw on her housecoat and felt her way to the stairs. Her fingers ran lightly against the faded wallpaper she had pasted on years ago with Ginny and Harry’s help. 

Hermione wasn’t sure where Pansy was, but she could feel her through the bond. When she reached out through it, Pansy’s presence came through at a low thrum. Deciding to avoid the living room altogether, Hermione made her way to the kitchen. She stood over the kettle and directed her wand quietly towards it as it filled with water and slowly began to bubble. Moments later, as she stirred her coffee, she thought about the night before. Would Croaker end up letting them go? Harry had seemed rather put off—

“Granger?”

Hermione gasped and her cup flung from her hand, caught only by Pansy’s quick spell that froze it midair. 

“Sweet _Merlin_ , Pansy.” Hermione gripped at her chest as she inhaled sharply.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I smelt coffee though.” Pansy waved at the cup suspended in the air and brought it back to the counter, its contents sloshing back down.

“Right, yeah,” Hermione sighed and rubbed at her eyes, “I’ll make an extra cup.”

Hermione turned her back to Pansy and worked to keep her hands busy. Having Pansy close again warmed the edges of the bond but set every nerve in her body on fire.

“I thought you should know, I’ve spoken with Croaker about the trip.” Pansy’s voice floated across the kitchen and Hermione shot a glance back over her shoulder. In the darkness of the room, she could barely make out the features of her face. 

“What, in the middle of the night?”

“It seems like Harry possibly sent him an owl last night after we left. Croaker contacted me directly and we worked out an arrangement.” Pansy accepted the cup that Hermione offered her. Their hands touched as she reached over, Hermione doing her best to keep her face neutral.

“How’d he contact you?” Hermione hadn’t heard the floo being used last night, she was sure of it.

“It’s an Unspeakables thing, Granger.” 

Choosing to ignore what sounded like an overtly condescending sentence, Hermione pressed on.

“So, the arrangement then?” she prodded. 

“We’re going; we leave in two days. That should give us enough time to gather any materials we need. We start where the stones were originally purchased. Oh, and Weasley is joining us, as discussed, and Theo. I was thinking that we should…” 

Hermione nodded as Pansy spoke, unconsciously tuning out her voice. Her eyes were on Pansy’s hands wrapped around the mottled yellow mug Hermione had given her. She pictured those hands firm against her waist, moving to grip the small of her back, nails pressed softly into her skin. She pictured herself reaching for Pansy, feeling like she was always the one reaching, hoping. 

“Does that work for you?”

“Hmm?” Hermione glanced up to find Pansy staring at her intently. She hadn’t caught a word of the last few minutes. “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

“Alright, well, thanks for this.” Pansy held up her cup in thanks and moved to leave the kitchen. Hermione bit hard on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from asking her to stay.

\---

Pansy stood in Croaker’s office watching Hermione chat quietly with Ron Weasley in the corner. Her back was turned, letting Pansy observe her without those startling brown eyes meeting hers. Narrow shoulders shook in laughter at something Weasley whispered to her and Pansy felt Hermione’s brief joy travel through the bond like a soft hum. Granger had dressed for travel that morning. It was strange seeing dark robes covering her usual jeans and jumper. The robes, fastened tightly around her middle, hugged at her waist and fell over the rounded curve of her hips. Hermione laughed again and Pansy grit her teeth. She wasn’t necessarily jealous of the way Weasley seemed to make Hermione laugh every other moment, more frustrated—really—if anything. Frustrated at the way Granger watched her with constantly bewildered and guarded eyes, as if everything Pansy said was some great riddle. 

Two days had passed since their shared moment in the kitchen, and their actions around each other had been coolly polite. It seemed like they were on the edge of falling into some strange and unwanted pattern where they did their best to ignore each other before the bond overwhelmed them and they lashed out. She did feel a little bad for the way she handled things, but it was for the best. Though Granger may have been hurt, this was vastly easier to handle than Granger accusing her of taking advantage of the situation once they had figured out how to break the bond. Croaker seemed hopeful with their progress and they had decent leads to go on once they arrived in Skye. 

Pansy straightened as Croaker gestured the small group in his office to gather in closer. 

“Alright, alright,” he motioned for Theo and Ron to step closer, Hermione and Pansy standing on either side of him already, “the portkey leaves in mere minutes. Is everyone feeling prepared?” Croaker’s eyes, milky but sharp, scanned the four faces making a semi-circle. Pansy couldn’t help but think Weasley looked woefully out of place—despite his background as an Auror—beside Theo. When she finally glanced at her friend, Theo’s gaze was on her. He smiled in assurance and Pansy returned it easily. 

“Here we are then,” Croaker pushed an unassuming old shoe into the middle of the table, “grasp it tight.” Four hands reached out and gripped the edge of the shoe. Pansy felt Hermione’s eyes on her but didn’t look up, instead focusing on the hard plastic sole between her fingers. If she concentrated enough, she could feel Granger’s nerves buzzing across the bond, her anxiety palpable. Pansy breathed deeply and tried to push her own feelings of calm into the bond, unsure if Hermione would be able to feel it on the other end. It felt strange, centring her own emotions and channeling them into the raw and edgeless void that was the bond. Hermione sighed across from her and Pansy allowed herself to look up, their eyes meeting. Hermione’s eyes were wide but she seemed more settled than a moment ago. Did she know? Had Granger delved into some of the more curious parts of their bond before? Could she, like Pansy had found out, block her emotions from her when she needed to, pushing them through at other times? Hermione looked at her questioningly, but their gaze broke when the portkey lurched and spun in front of them, tugging them away and depositing them in a heap, far from the secure walls of Croaker’s office.

-

Pansy landed crouched over the ground. One hand had planted itself in the thick grass under her feet, the other was tightly on her wand. She had taken enough portkeys over the course of her career to have nailed the landing, noting Theo and Ron were slowly rising to their feet from similar positions. Granger, however, was unceremoniously lying flat on her back. Pansy bit back a laugh and reached over, gripping Hermione’s hand and gently tugging her to her feet.

“Hard landing, Granger?”

“Don’t,” Hermione hissed, brushing flecks of grass heavy with morning dew off her robes. Noting a few had stuck themselves into her mass of curls, Pansy leaned in and easily brushed them away. The tops of Hermione’s cheeks flushed for a second before she waved Pansy away.

“Yeah, yeah, you all look very graceful, let’s move on.” 

Pansy suppressed her laugh as Hermione snatched her pack off the ground and marched towards where Ron and Theo were standing. 

“The inn we’re staying at is about a mile from here,” Theo pointed north over a long stretch of gently rolling hills, “did we want to settle in and then get started? We’re headed to a little area called Waternish, that’ll be the base for the next few days. The stones were purchased just here,” a map coiled out from a deep pocket of Theo’s robes and landed in his hands, “Dunvegan is technically a non-wizarding village but there are a number of small shops that are Wizard-owned. Croaker thought our best chance was to talk to the owner and try and trace where the stones originated from.” Theo passed the map to Ron, who peered closely at the marks dotting its surface. Pansy waited patiently for Theo to go over a number of details about the case, mostly for Ron’s benefit. Hermione was already tuning Theo out and moving towards Ron. 

“Ron, can I just—” Hermione tried to reach over Ron’s shoulder to grab the map, but he whisked it away before she could grab it.

“‘Mione, let me just look at it,” Ron muttered and tried to turn his back to her.

“Can’t we look at the same time? Honestly Ronald.” Hermione dodged as he turned and they were inches away from Ron’s nose colliding with Hermione’s forehead. 

Theo coughed loudly and dug out another map from his pocket, holding it out to Hermione.

“Here, I have more.” 

“Oh, erm, right, thanks.” Hermione gingerly took the map and shot Ron a disapproving look, though he was already rolling his eyes at her. Pansy thought their sibling-like antics were charming but a bit strange. Hadn’t they had some post-Hogwarts romance? She swore she heard about something like that from Daphne. Not that she kept up with the lives of her old schoolmates, but when she thought about it, she hadn’t really heard much about Weasley’s dating life at all. Maybe he had held a candle for Granger all these years. She glanced at Hermione, who had her face already buried in the map. Not that she needed it; Pansy had seen her the day before pouring over a map of Skye and memorizing the names of each little village and every site that might have magical importance to the stones. Every burial cairn, various standing stones, the fairy glen, they had all been marked and dotted with her thoughts on their possible relation. 

Theo cleared his throat again and Pansy realized he was waiting for them to follow him. Dressed in Muggle clothes with a traveling robe thrown over for warmth, he looked like he could have been a local. 

“The jeans suit you, T.” Pansy grinned at him as she passed and accepted the gentle push to her shoulder in retaliation. 

“Thanks Pans, you know I love looking like I’m headed out to check on the sheep.” Theo returned her grin and started the quick walk to their accommodations. Pansy turned to find Hermione staring at them, her face clouded.

“Are you two coming?” Pansy watched Ron gather his bag and hurry after Theo, leaving Hermione to trek her way across the soft ground. Pansy waited a moment for her to catch up but Hermione walked past her without glancing in her direction. 

-

Hermione pushed past Pansy, hoping she could feel her very purposefully directed snub. She was still smarting from her graceful portkey landing. Of course bloody Pansy had landed like a cat. On top of it all, the past two days had been wildly awkward in her opinion. The two of them had spent time at the Ministry and Hermione’s home. Always close enough to keep the bond in check but never close enough for actual contact. And Hermione was beginning to feel it. It had to be the bond. Her scalp felt prickly and her eyes were tired. Her brain felt like it was a vat of swirling split pea soup whenever she tried to focus. 

Harry had popped into their temporary office at the Ministry the day before they left. He had that look of concern in his eyes that made Hermione instantly guilty for making him worry. Draco had even come by later on, surely a sign that Harry had sent him. Despite their hovering, Hermione was glad for their company. Her and Pansy had hardly said more than a few stilted sentences to each other. When Pansy was in the room beside them talking to Croaker, Draco had leaned in and launched into his own little investigation.

 _“How’re you doing, darling, really? I heard the Weasel is actually coming on your little trip, I’m terribly sorry… Yes, I know, of course, but qualifications don’t make him more palatable, do they? And you and Pansy, yes…I heard. Better to smooth it over and move forward. She’s a bit prickly, as you’ve discovered...no, no, she means well, I think. Like cracking a Cornish pixie egg,_ quite _hard on the outside, gooey in the middle, as you will…”_

Pansy had pushed through the adjoining door and narrowed her eyes at the pair of them, whispering feverishly back and forth. Draco left with a smile and wave to both of them, leaving them again in silence. 

After Pansy virtually ignored her for two days, it was the least Hermione could do but trudge right past her as she waited on the slope of a Scottish hill. Looking casually devastating, as well. She had shed her Unspeakable robes for something a little less dramatic but still managed to look both intimidating and mysterious. Hermione groaned internally. Damn her, truly. Laughing and teasing with Theo, smiling at him, and then turning those cold green eyes on her. She was distracting Hermione from the task in front of her. She patted her tightly packed bag against her side comfortingly. She had managed to pack at least a dozen of her favourite books on runes, Scottish archeology, mythology, and the likes. As well as the stones and parchment, securely locked in a number of fitted boxes. And supplies for the next few days, sufficient snacks, all the necessities. The undetectable extension charm had saved the day again. Hermione relaxed her breathing as she walked and tried to focus. She had prepared for this. She had thought of everything. They’d break this bloody curse. She would be okay. 

They had been walking for twenty or so minutes when Hermione stopped to really look around. They were surrounded on all sides by muted greens broken up by tufts of white sheep’s wool that had caught and torn off into the shrubs that now hung like soft dandelions. The sky was a misty grey that seemed to descend and blur into the landscape, reaching down to touch the bending stems of purple cow vetch, heather, and scraggly yellow wildflowers that clung to the hills. It was achingly beautiful but filled her with a sense of hollowness, of longing. It reminded her of wandering the grounds of Hogwarts but for its barrenness, no dense forest here to break up the vastness. Despite the shapes of Ron, Theo, and Pansy in the distance, she felt very small, and very alone.


	10. Allow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the incomparable Szuvern xx  
> Also -- in case anyone is interested and likes to listen while they read, I wrote this chapter to Mount Eerie's _Lost Wisdom, Pt. 2_ album, particularly the last scene to the song Belief Pt 2.

The inn was quaint. Well-furnished, taken care of, but the slight smell of grease permeated the air from a much-loved fish and chip fryer that stood in the small attached café. The rooms, thankfully, were better. Four in the row with shared bathrooms. Hermione dropped her bag onto the stiff double bed and picked at the fraying blanket. It was bright white, a hem of soft cream threading along its edge. 

“Alright, Hermione?” Ron knocked quietly as he pushed her door open. Hermione smiled and motioned for him to join her.

“Nice place, hey?” He sat heavily beside her and the mattress protested under his weight. Hermione made a non-committal noise, knowing Ron didn’t need much encouragement to fill the silence.

“I think Luna might have been on to something about that holiday. Would be nice to have a break.”

Hermione turned her head slightly to nod her agreement.

“I’m glad you’re here, Ron. Just wanted to say. It’s nice to have you with me.” Hermione squeezed the top of his knee gently. She was glad, after all. While Theo had been courteous and polite, he was mostly a stranger to her, and Pansy’s presence still felt like a dark cloud.

“Happy to be here, ‘Mione. You know I’d be here regardless.” He patted her hand on top of his. “Plus, I’d say after the mess we’ve been through, you deserve some peace and quiet. This curse business isn’t fair.” 

Hermione nodded, trying to brush away the tears that swelled at her friend’s soft hand over hers. 

“Thanks, Ron. It’s been—it’s been weird.” Hermione laughed as she wiped at her cheeks, embarrassed at her display of emotion and inability to really articulate how the past few weeks had felt.

Ron laid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “We’ll sort this out.”

“Yeah,” she exhaled and pushed her hair from her face, “we will. It’ll be fine. Walk me down?”

Ron stood and offered his hand as he pulled Hermione to her feet. They made their way down the wooden stairs to where Theo and Pansy were waiting. After ensuring a side room in the inn was empty, the group apparated to a clearing near where the stones had been first purchased.

“Doesn’t look like much, does it?” Ron asked aloud to the group, eyeing the shop in the distance. 

As they approached, Hermione took in its squat roofline, like a giant had sat on it ages ago and spread it in each directly but crushed the ceiling in the process. Trellises framed almost every side of the building and vines wrapped heavily around protruding stones. 

“It’s got charm, Ron, come on.” Hermione nudged him as they walked to front. Theo tugged at the heavy wooden doors and they creaked under his weight, opening to reveal a maze of shelving that spread before them in seemingly unending directions. As they filed in, their eyes adjusted to the low lighting and heavy smoke and dust that filtered through the air. Hermione took in the mass of goods that dominated every corner, not a single space empty of antiques. 

“Afternoon, folks.” An older woman, her back bent with age, grinned at them from a table pushed off to the side. They murmured their greetings and the woman narrowed her eyes.

“Londoners, eh? Come to see Malcolm then, have you?”

“Erm, yes, we have.” Hermione shifted where she stood but did her best to maintain a smile at the woman. After all, if this is where the stones had been purchased, this was their best bet in moving forward.

“Good, good. To the back with you, then. Off you go.” The woman waved them towards the back of the shop and returned to the shapeless brown cloth in front of her that she was pushing an old needle through. 

Hermione exchanged a look with Ron, but Theo and Pansy were already moving. Theo had gotten a description of the shop from the Unspeakable who had come across the stones in the first place, so he had a rough idea of the outlay already. Ron had agreed to wait around the shop and poke around, keeping an eye out. 

Hermione followed Theo and Pansy, her eyes catching on random objects part of the unending display of both knickknacks and valuables that fought for space and attention on the shelves. The back of the store, it turned out, was a completely different room. Compared to the rest of the shop, it was surprisingly tidy. Large lamps stood or hung from various parts of the room and filled it with an eerie yellow glow. Old wooden chairs were arranged in front of an even older desk, behind which a man was waiting for them.

“Ah, come in!” The man, who Hermione assumed was the Malcolm referred to earlier, reminded her of a cleaner Mundungus Fletcher upon first inspection. He stood as they entered, and Hermione imagined he wasn’t much taller than her. Pansy and Theo towered over him as Theo offered his hand. The man shook it heartily, his short greying beard bobbing as he smiled and displayed even but faded yellowing teeth. 

“Malcolm Lusk.” He turned to shake Pansy’s hand and then Hermione’s. His hand felt warm and rough against her own. Callouses brushed against her palm as he moved to release her. But his gaze held. Watery blue eyes peered out from under unruly eyebrows and regarded her with interest. Hermione returned his stare with a cautious smile, tucking a section of her hair behind her ear out of habit.

“Welcome, welcome. Sit, please.”

As they arranged themselves in the heavy chairs in front of Malcolm, he leaned back and folded his hands across his coat. Hermione glanced over at Pansy. She was watching Malcolm with a polite stare, her eyes heavy-lidded and almost unblinking. Hermione used to assume it was boredom, but realized she used it to appear uninterested. Hermione knew better now; she knew Pansy was sizing up the man in front of them just as carefully as Theo was.

Malcolm cleared his throat. “Come to buy then, I assume. Well, what can I interest you lot in? I just received a new batch of magically infused jewellery, all eighteenth century, very rare you see. Of course I always have my list of curios—”

“Actually, Mr. Lusk, we’re here to ask about a few items a friend of ours purchased from you some time ago.” Theo cut in, waiting while Malcolm guffawed and shook his head.

“Not here to buy, then?” His eyes darkened and he grabbed a thick leather book off his desk and began flipping through it. “Can’t promise yeh I’ll have answers. You lot aren’t here in any…official capacity, are yeh?”

“No, certainly not. We work for a collector down in London—Mr. Shelton. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?” Theo smiled easily at Malcolm and launched into the cover the group had constructed for themselves. 

“Aye, I’ve heard of Mr. Shelton.”

“Excellent. We’re on a buying trip for him, so we’re not against taking a look. But we’d like to ask about the original purchase first, if you don’t mind.”

“Fine,” Malcolm shrugged his heavy shoulders and settled back, “what’s this about?”

“A collection of stones, Mr. Lusk.” Pansy spoke up. Her voice was smooth, softened. Hermione resisted the urge to watch her again, keeping her eyes firmly on the man in front of her instead.

“Please, call me Malcolm. Nobodies’ been callin' me mister for years. Stones, then, you say? Lots of stones come through this shop, you’ll have to be more specific.”

“I believe they’re called snakestones, though these particular stones have runic inscriptions. An associate of ours purchased them from you along with an accompanying parchment. We were wondering if you remember where you first came across them, or who you purchased them from,” Theo supplied, as he and Pansy handled Malcolm’s questions. 

Malcolm nodded along, again paging through the leather journal in his lap. Hermione caught scrawled handwriting in dark ink across the pages.

“Ah, here we go,” he sighed and paused on the page he was after, “it appears I did sell them. Interesting things, those stones. Had a hard time partin’ with them. Very valuable. Very magical. Can’t remember who I got them from, to be honest with yeh. Had them for decades it seems.”

“Malcolm, do you remember sensing any…darker magic, from the stones?” Theo pressed. Hermione tried her best to not twist her hands in her lap.

“Well, depends what yeh mean about dark. Powerful, sure. Dark? Now I don’t know about that. If that’s all then, I’d be happy to show you that jewellery I was talkin’ about.” 

“Please—” Hermione leaned forward, “Malcolm, could you tell us what you know about the stones? Anything?”

The man exhaled and regarded Hermione silently for a moment before agreeing.

“Alright, alright. Bit of a legend attached to those stones, if I remember correctly. You lot know anything about the legend of Hilda?”

“Hilda of Whitby,” Hermione nodded, “I’ve read about her. Snakestones are often seen as representing the proof of her magic.” 

“Aye,” Malcolm smiled, “a powerful witch, she was.”

“But what does the legend have to do with _these_ stones? Hilda was from North Yorkshire.” Hermione ignored the feeling of Theo and Pansy’s eyes on her intently. 

“Aye,” Malcolm repeated, “but do yeh know the rest of her legend? The legend of her lover?”

Hermione shook her head, for once unsure what he was talking about. She had scoured all the books about the supposed life and apocryphal stories surrounding Hilda and the creation of snakestones. All the stories ended with her death.

“Hilda suffered for the last seven years of her life with a fever, yeh see. A terrible illness. Her lover watched her suffer but he,” Malcolm paused to shake his head, “he wasn’t able to save her. When she passed, he left. Came up here to the isle, they say. Mad with grief. The snakes, the very ones that Hilda drove out, met him on the moorlands. They offered to make a deal with him. They’d reunite him with Hilda, but there’d be a price. He’d gift his life to them and his magic, and they’d carry him to the afterlife. A deal that could only be made if they were true soul mates. Hilda’s lover agreed, and the snakes took his magic and his life, and carried him off to be with his love. I’ve heard a few versions, but each say a stone monument was left behind as an imprint of the magic. And those snakes, when their time came to pass, they became the very stones you’re now askin’ about.” Malcolm finished the story and sat back, his mouth a grim line.

“And you think,” Hermione paused, bewildered, “that this legend tells of how these stones came to be?”

“Aye,” Malcolm confirmed, “have you seen the stones, miss? Markings on them. Like he said. Magic.” Malcolm jutted his chin towards Theo. 

“Right,” Theo sat forward, “and the powerful magic that you mentioned, could you tell us what you think that relates to?” 

“Well, now, who’s to say.” Malcolm spread his hands out, palms up. Hermione noticed the greying of his fingernails, the lines along his knuckles. She suspected he was much older than he originally appeared. 

Theo continued his line of questioning for another ten minutes or so, while Malcolm gave exceedingly vague answers. Sometimes he grinned, chuckled, or bristled with each answer. Pansy sat quietly— perfectly calm—while Hermione’s anxiousness brewed inside her. She tried to quell her suspicions, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew more than he was letting on. 

“Alright, Malcolm, just a final question—” 

“Mr. Lusk—Malcolm—please.” Hermione cut Theo off mid-sentence. She needed to hear everything. He turned his eyes to her and waited.

“You must have suspected—you must have had a sense—the curse attached to the stones. You knew. Please, tell me what you know.” She managed not to waver as she spoke but she could feel her hands starting to shake lightly. Pansy’s confusion at her outburst reached her through the bond but she ignored it, her eyes trained on the man in front of her.

“A curse?” Malcolm scratched at his chin, his beard crinkling as he thought. “What makes yeh think there’s any curse?”

“I’ve seen the stones, I’ve held them. They’re cursed.” Hermione lifted her face. She wasn’t challenging him, but she met his gaze head on. 

“Depends how yeh define a curse, miss. I’ve heard the stones carry the weight of the deal Hilda’s lover made. But the stones only reveal, they don’t curse,” Malcolm shook his head. “Yeh seem awfully curious about it all though, has there been a problem with the stones? Someone lookin’ to buy them off your Mr. Shelton?”

Malcolm waited as Pansy, Theo, and Hermione paused. Hermione shifted in her seat, about to answer, when Pansy spoke up.

“Malcolm, may I be frank with you?” She waited as the man nodded, his beard dipping to touch the front of his shirt. 

“My colleague and I were categorizing items for Mr. Shelton when the stones seemed to have a reaction to our touch. There have been…unfortunate consequences because of that interaction. We’re looking to rid ourselves of whatever magic you infer these stones have.” 

Hermione marvelled at Pansy’s ability to conjure up a story so quickly and she looked back and forth between the man behind the desk and Pansy, who was seated in the middle, closest to him. At her words, he leaned towards them, his elbows pressed against the wooden desk. 

“It’s you two, then, ain’t it?” He nodded towards Hermione.

“It is,” Pansy confirmed. Hermione felt her tongue heavy in her mouth and she swallowed hard. The dust swirling in the room seemed to stick to the lining of her throat and she desperately longed for an open window. 

Malcolm was peering at her with those eyes that made her squirm. 

“Aye, I felt it when you entered. I can sense it on yeh. Very rare, this is. A true gift you’ve been given.”

“It’s not a gift, don’t you understand?” Hermione felt her frustration rising as she gripped the edge of the desk with her hands. She felt hot, her robe suddenly too tight, the air too still. 

“Yeh’ve have something revealed to yeh, that’s all. The stones hold old magic—love magic—I suspect. It _reveals_ , it doesn’t curse. The stones sensed something in you two. Both of yeh. But if ending it is somethin’ you’d want, I’d suggest seeking out the place the deal was first made.”

“But you don’t really believe in all this nonsense about the stones being a gift, about them revealing things, do you?” Hermione pressed, her voice tight. 

“I don’t know, miss, do yeh? Is it harder to believe than to not?” Malcolm abruptly stood, signalling the end of their meeting. “That’s all I have for yeh. Now if there won’t be buyin’ involved in this discussion, I think we’ve reached the end.” Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Malcolm already had his hand on the door.

“Thank you, for—for your time,” Hermione muttered as she passed him, and he smiled tightly and nodded. She heard Theo and Pansy behind her repeating their thanks and she caught sight of Ron in the middle of the shop. She pushed her way to the doors they had come through and stumbled back into the light.

She stood, gulping down air. She hadn’t realized earlier but her forehead felt damp when she ran the back of her hand over it, strands of hair sticking to her skin. Her body felt weightless as she took a step forward. Pansy, Theo, and Ron had come out behind her but their voices felt far away. 

Suddenly, a pair of hands were gripping her and holding her up under her arms.

“Give her a second, hold on,” Pansy murmured, gently lifting her back onto her feet before her knees had a chance to make contact with the wet grass. Hermione leaned against the weight of Pansy’s chest behind her and it felt wonderfully solid. Her head fell back and rested against the crook of Pansy’s neck and she closed her eyes. Her voice was closer now, against her ear.

“In and out, Granger, nice and slow. In and out.”

Hermione inhaled. Lavender and cedarwood.

“What’s going on?” Ron’s voice now, concerned.

“She’ll be okay, just hold on,” Pansy again, keeping distance between her and Ron. Hermione was momentarily grateful. She tried to keep her focus on her breathing, on Pansy’s voice, on the feeling of her feet planted against the ground.

“What happened in there?” Ron turned his question to Theo. 

“He knew about the stones,” Theo replied, digging through his pack for a canister of water to pass to Pansy, “half of it was rubbish, some of it I think we can use though.”

Theo continued to fill Ron in on what he had missed, going through what Malcolm had relayed to them about the stones and their origins. They had managed to walk a distance away from the store, all while Pansy carefully led Hermione beside her, taking much of her weight. Hermione relished the feel of her skin against hers and let herself be guided. When they came to a flat outcrop along the shoreline, Pansy gently seated Hermione on the grass. 

Crouching in front of her, Pansy’s face filled her vision. Dark green eyes the colour of sage were studying her face. Hermione thought she saw concern in them but couldn’t distinguish it from the tumultuous feelings pulsing through the bond.

“You alright, Granger?” Pansy murmured. Hermione stared at her, Pansy’s voice so soft it made her chest ache.

“Hermione? Are you alright?” 

She nodded and let herself fall the rest of the way back against the grass. Ron and Theo stood off to the side and sent Pansy an alarming look, but she shook her head and lowered herself beside Hermione. 

“What do you think he meant? That he could sense it?” Hermione finally spoke in a whisper. Her throat still felt crackly from the dust. 

“I don’t know,” Pansy admitted. 

“And the bit about the stones only revealing?” Hermione asked, her eyes trained on the overcast sky above.

“I…don’t know,” Pansy sighed and Hermione tilted her head so she could see her. 

“Are you scared?” Hermione breathed. Pansy glanced at her but Hermione couldn’t read her eyes. Instead of answering, Pansy’s hand found Hermione’s on the grass. She gripped it gently and Hermione concentrated on her touch, on Pansy’s fingers, cool and soft against hers. 

“We’ll start by searching nearby landmarks for traces of magical imprints,” Pansy began, “we’ll look for the place he mentioned, where the deal was first made.”

Hermione nodded, unsure if Pansy could see the slight movements of her head against the ground. They laid for a few moments in silence before Hermione carefully squeezed Pansy’s hand, their fingers still entwined.

“Pansy?”

“Hmm?”

“I wanted to say, this has been…hard. This has been _hard_ ,” Hermione almost laughed at her own confession, “but I’m not mad it’s been with you.”

Hermione heard the grass shift beneath Pansy’s weight as she rolled to her side, propping herself up on an elbow and looking down at her.

“I’m not mad it’s been with you, either.” 

Pansy moved until she had carefully gathered Hermione close to her. Hermione tucked her head under Pansy’s chin until they fitted together, the warmth from the bond encircling the two of them on the ground as they gently held on to the other.


	11. Pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shoutout to my #1 Szuvern for beta'ing and being the absolute best <3

The two of them laid still for a few more moments until a steady rain began and threatened to soak them through. Pansy stood first, pulling Hermione up on her feet. Hermione smiled uncertainly at Pansy and blinked back emotion when Pansy smiled tightly in return. 

After they caught up with Ron and Theo they decided to walk for a while before apparating the rest of the way to the inn. Hermione still felt a little shaken up and they all agreed some air could do them good. Pansy and Ron eventually walked ahead, while Theo waited for Hermione. 

“What do you reckon they’re talking about?” Theo mused, turning to grin at Hermione. The pair watched as Pansy and Ron walked side by side metres in front of them. 

“I’m surprised they’re even talking, to be honest. Maybe arguing about the Cannons’ playing this season? I saw some Harpies merch in Pansy’s flat. Or maybe making mildly veiled threats at one another?” Hermione shrugged but she laughed at the look on Theo’s face. 

Despite not knowing him well, Hermione had grown to enjoy Theo’s company. He had been quiet at school and that calm disposition carried into his work. She saw his softness come out when he teased Pansy and the two of them let down their guard around the other. 

“Threats is probably most likely,” Theo decided, “though I don’t think Pansy minds him.”

“Really?” Hermione turned surprised eyes to him as he nodded. 

“Yeah, she’s not being nearly as mean as she usually is around Gryffindors.”

Hermione gently bumped his shoulder with hers and laughed.

“So that’s what’s with you all, then? Old school rivalries?”

Theo shook his head as he watched them. “I honestly think she picked it up from Draco.”

Hermione snorted and had to steady herself against Theo as they walked. 

“Draco and Ron secretly adore each other, come on. If they stopped antagonizing each other they’d be bored stiff—and Wednesday dinners would be significantly more boring.”

Theo offered Hermione his arm and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. His solid weight balanced her and she squinted up to look at him when he spoke.

“You might be right. Sort of like an old married couple, those two.”

Hermione agreed and they walked quietly for a while, Theo steadying her over rockier terrain. The wind picked up around them and thin sheets of rain began to fall sideways across the ground. She noticed Theo occasionally glancing down at her, his brows knit together, chewing on the side of his lip. Finally, he spoke.

“Hermione, are you trained in Occlumency at all?”

Startled by his question, Hermione shook her head.

“No, not really. Harry tried teaching me years ago but it was awful. I understand the methods behind it but practicing it was different.” 

Briefly, she was transported to dark nights in a tent in the middle of the woods, Harry and her trying to practice it on each other. Harry was reluctant, and when he tried reaching into her mind, she found herself helpless to the intrusion. He spun through her memories, as unwilling as she was. _Her as a child, gripping her mum’s hand tightly as she clung to her in the bustle of the shops. Her first letter from Hogwarts: the letter was the most beautiful thing she had seen, the parchment crisp but soft between her fingers, the red of the wax vibrant against the darkness of the ink. The moment at the Yule Ball when she saw Padma. Her hair shone like silk, the turquoise of her dress skimming and falling across her skin, and Hermione’s breath had caught in her throat._ When Harry emerged from her memories, he held her tightly and they never spoke of it again. 

Theo was watching her closely, she could sense he was hesitant. “Did you know that Pansy…she’s an Occlumens?”

The words sank in Hermione’s stomach like rocks, but she couldn’t place why Theo’s revelation unsettled her so much.

“No…I—I didn’t know.”

“It’s standard training to become an Unspeakable,” Theo quickly supplied, “although very basic training. Similar to what Aurors receive. But Pansy’s father began teaching her Occlumency when she was very young. She’s quite…accomplished at it.”

Hermione felt the wheels begin to whir in her mind as she caught up with what was being said.

“Theo, is she a Legilimens too?” she asked, keeping her tone light while dread crept steadily into her throat.

“Er, yes, actually, she is. Although—” Theo added hastily, “she doesn’t practice it anymore. At least not to my knowledge.”

“But she practices Occlumency still?” Bewildered, Hermione felt like Theo was skirting around a larger issue. His choice to suddenly discuss Pansy’s past with her was unnerving. 

“I think so. Not often, but…I thought you ought to know. She…admitted to me that she’s been able to cut off the flow of emotions between the two of you temporarily, at least from her end.”

Guilt twisted Theo’s face when Hermione blanched. The sound of blood rushed loudly in her ears.

“She told you this?”

“More or less…yes. She’s good at shutting off her emotions when she wants to, distancing herself from things she doesn’t want to feel. She realized that she could…obscure her emotions from you when she needed. Make them duller.”

“How did I not sense that?” Hermione muttered. Theo winced as her grip on his arm became vice-like.

“How is that fair?” she hissed, indignation steadily building. “She can hide her emotions from me but I’m what, an open book to her?”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Theo hurried to diffuse what was fast spiralling, “and I don’t think she meant harm by it. I think it’s a way for her to cope. Things she wasn’t ready to feel—didn’t want to feel—she was able to tuck them away, essentially.”

Hermione exhaled slowly through her nose and pressed her fingers against her temple. Emotions built up in her chest and the weight of it felt raw and unbridled. Her legs had stopped moving and she stood, letting the gusts of wind pull at her hair as she looked at Theo. He looked equally pained. His mop of wet sandy hair fell into his eyes and he seemed, for a moment, more like the lost student at Hogwarts she remembered. 

“Why’re you telling me this?” Hermione murmured.

Theo winced. “Because I know she won’t tell you, at least not now—and I think, in the end, you knowing will only help. She cares for you, Hermione. I have to say—she really does.” He was holding Hermione’s hand between his own as he spoke fast but low. “She’s awful at showing it. She’s guarded, you know that. She carries a lot with her—guilt, regret, anger—and its hardened her. It’s not an excuse, but it’s who she’s become. She hasn’t let herself really care for anyone besides Draco and I for a very long time.” Theo shifted his gaze to the figure of Pansy in the distance.

Hermione held her breath for a moment, watching Theo look at Pansy with mixed emotions. When Hermione spoke, her voice came as a whisper.

“You don’t think she trusts me?”

“I don’t think she trusts herself,” Theo corrected. “But she’s different with you. She looks at you…I don’t know, I’ve never seen that from her before.”

Hermione sighed heavily and gently pulled her hand from between Theo’s. She let his admission sink in before speaking.

“At dinner, Ginny said something similar. But if there’s even a moment of understanding between us it’s like she punishes us by pushing me away, saying it’s the bond.” Hermione heard her frustration but couldn’t help herself. A warning in the back of her head was telling her she was divulging too much, being too vulnerable. 

“She’s scared,” Theo confirmed. 

Hermione looked up at Theo and almost withered at the honesty in his face. She could see his concern, his love, his protectiveness for Pansy.

Theo shook his head, equally frustrated.

“She’s scared of wanting something, actually wanting something, and maybe having to let it go.”

“After what we’ve all gone through, aren’t we all a little scared?” Hermione murmured. 

“I’m sorry, Hermione—I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, I’m glad you did. You were right, I…I should know.”

Hermione let Theo slowly pull her along as she absorbed the news. Guilt was practically radiating off Theo and she knew he was conflicted. But Hermione couldn’t place what she felt. Pain—first of all—for knowing that Pansy carried her past with her so heavily. She thought she’d be angrier at her, but she couldn’t muster the energy to be mad. Hermione still felt the bond thrum between them, a constant reminder of Pansy’s presence, of her life tied to her own. It was both a comfort and maddening at the same time. It was like having Pansy close while only being able to watch her through clouded glass, pointlessly trying to see to the other side. 

-

“That’s a defeatist attitude,” Ron shook his head vehemently, “the Harpies have been playing alright, but the Cannons will come out on top. I’m positive.”

Pansy stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Ron looked mock-serious but she noticed the smile tugging at his mouth. 

“Your hope in them is astounding, Weasley. That won’t get them to the finals, though.”

“You know,” Ron grinned as he pushed wet hair from his forehead, “Theo thought they played a good game the other week.”

“Best mates already, the two of you?” Pansy scoffed, but with less venom than usual. 

Weasley was turning out to be fine. Not her first choice in companionship, but he was a competent Auror and it did seem he had Hermione’s best interests in mind. And he had grown into some of the more unfortunate traits he had demonstrated in school. Theo had already given her the ‘give him a chance’ conversation before they left and she had promised to be on her best behaviour, though she found herself not minding their conversations. 

“He’s alright,” Ron laughed, “Draco’s been talking him up for years.”

Pansy had the sinking suspicious she’d catch them playing chess together later on that night. 

“Hey,” Ron paused and Pansy heard him take a deep breath, “it was nice, seeing you help Hermione back there.”

Pansy swallowed and stared at the unending stretch of small hills in front of them. 

“I worry about her. I think it’s part of the reason Harry asked me to come on this trip and not another Auror. I just—I need to know someone else has her back, you know? She’s been through a lot.” Ron’s hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of his robe. He seemed reluctant, but Pansy thought she understood.

“I have her back, Weasley, don’t worry,” Pansy replied, though the words stuck in her throat. And she did. She had been an arse to Granger in the beginning, but she felt like she was trying to make amends, trying to do what was right. While it was growing increasingly harder to keep her at an arm’s length, she thought that today had been a small step in the right direction. 

“Good,” Ron muttered, sounding gruff. He reached out and patted her shoulder awkwardly and Pansy had to cover her jolt of surprise with a bout of coughing. 

“Right, then,” Ron sighed as he stopped to watch Theo and Hermione traipse slowly towards them across the wet field, “time to apparate back?”

Pansy nodded, about to agree when the bond quickly twisted around her. Hermione was too far away to read her face, but a flood of confusion reached her, a wave of muddled-up turmoil that Pansy couldn’t begin to decode. 

“You two ready to get back to the inn?” Ron called out when Theo and Hermione were close enough to hear. 

“Actually,” Hermione shook her head as she walked up, “it’s only midday, we should get a head start on the locations.”

She wasn’t looking at Pansy. At least, not really. Her eyes would dart from Ron’s face quickly to Pansy and back in an instant. Her hands were tucking wet curls back into a braid that was already threatening to fall apart. 

“Don’t reckon it’s an indoor site?” Ron, looking miserable at the thought of spending the rest of the day outside, shifted on his feet impatiently.

“Really, Ronald.” Hermione sighed as she cast a warming charm towards him and waved off his thanks.

“The Kensaleyre standing stones first.” Hermione pulled out the map from earlier and pointed to a spot across the isle. “They’re a notable landmark. It’s somewhere to start.”

“A good a place as any,” Ron reached for his wand and nodded at the group before he spun in place and disapparated, Theo a second behind.

Pansy’s gaze was fixed on Hermione who finally looked at her long enough to see that Pansy’s hand was out in front of her.

“Almost forgot,” Hermione breathed as she slid her hand into Pansy’s so the two could side-along. Pansy thought she felt Hermione’s hand shake slightly in hers. 

-

Hermione dropped Pansy’s hand the moment their feet touched ground again. While the bond warmed at their touch, Hermione felt anxious at the feel of Pansy’s palm against hers. Could she feel it? Hermione felt like her emotions were changing shape faster than she could get a hold on them—Pansy had to feel it. 

Hermione dragged in a steady breath and tried to settle her nerves for what felt like the tenth time that day. She had to focus. Looking out, the two stones stood on the edge of Loch Eyre, jutting from the ground and interrupting the curve of the shoreline. Hermione shivered and pulled her robe tighter around her middle, trying to tune out the soft voices of Theo and Pansy behind her. 

“Ron,” she called, diverting her attention towards him, “we’re looking for runes, writing of any kind, anything that seems of interest. We’ll take a look at the stones but pay attention to the outer area, there might have been stones here before.”

Hermione signalled for Ron to follow her. “ _Aparecium_ should work. Magic always leaves traces.” 

“And what’ll those two be doing?” Ron lengthened his strides to catch up.

“Something Unspeakable-related, I’m sure.” Hermione worked to keep her tone light as they stopped in front of the stones. Pansy had already mentioned she and Theo had various ways to detecting magical traces that they couldn’t exactly share.

The stones themselves were imposing, the north stone level with Hermione and the south stone a little taller than she stood. Hermione moved towards the north stone and slowly ran her fingers over the weathered rock, dusting over white patches of lichen that spotted the stone on all sides. She closed her eyes and whispered spell after spell. She could hear Ron repeating her words on the other stone as she tried to channel her magic. 

But there was nothing. Nothing hummed under her fingers, no runes sprung from the hewn rock after millennia of lying dormant—nothing. 

She pushed harder. Her fingers almost vibrating with the pressure of magic, she held her hands over the cool rock, on the wet ground surrounding it, willing her magic to find something. After ten minutes, she dropped her concentration. Exhausted, she sat on the ground away from the stones and watched Theo and Pansy nearby. They had their wands out and were moving them rhythmically as they walked in slow but growing concentric circles around each other. Pansy’s wand moved seamlessly and Hermione found herself following its movements. Blackthorn, dragon heartstring core, 12 inches. Its blackened bark was visible against the paleness of Pansy’s fingers, the stiffness of the wood evident when she moved her hand quickly. While they worked, Pansy and Theo looked effortless together, murmuring under their breath spells that Hermione couldn’t hear. Having seen enough, she dug in her bag and pulled out a reference book to bury her nose in.

“Definitely a magic site,” Theo concluded as he and Pansy pocketed their wands an hour later. 

“But not useful to us,” Hermione added as she stood to her feet, book tucked under her am. 

“Ron, find anything?” Theo called out as Ron approached, shaking his head in response.

“On to the next, then.” Hermione tried to stuff the book back into her bag while keeping her eyes down.

“Hold on, you want to rule the site out this quickly?” Pansy cut in and Hermione felt her stomach coil. 

“Well,” Hermione inhaled and looked up at Pansy, “unless you found something groundbreaking, yeah, I think we can rule it out.” Her words felt weighted, like she was running out of breath mid-sentence. 

“I was thinking we should take the snakestones out,” Pansy jutted her chin towards Hermione’s bag, “if we missed anything, this might be the catalyst.”

Hermione took a moment, her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth. Logically, Pansy just wanted to check every last possibility before they left. That made sense. Hermione would have suggested it she if she weren’t so flustered. But she…hadn’t. Cursing under her breath, she knew Pansy had a point.

“Fine, we’ll check.”

She turned and marched towards the stones. She set her bag down and dropped to her knees right in the middle of the two imposing stones, hearing Pansy come up behind her.

“Make sure Theo and Ron keep their distance, just in case,” she spoke into her bag, hoping Pansy would catch on. 

Carefully, she pulled the locked box from her bag. She stared at its lid, dark and engraved, and pressed it open. The dials turned and clicked slowly, cover by cover opening. The snakestones sat nestled at the very bottom, dull and small. The parchment was tucked on the side. Hermione gently removed the parchment, laying it flat on the ground after spelling a drying charm on the grass around them. She cradled the stones one by one, lining each up on the parchment like she did weeks before in Croaker’s office. 

She was aware of Pansy nearby. She heard her soft breathing, caught flashes of black hair from the corner of her eye, felt her presence through the bond. 

“Tell me what they say again.”

Startled, Hermione turned her head at Pansy’s voice. “Pardon?”

“The stones,” Pansy was on the ground beside her, hand hovering inches above the snakestones, “what did the runes say?”

“Gift,” Hermione touched the first stone, pressed the pad of her finger into the worn grooves of the rune. She touched the next. “This one fits here on the parchment, it creates ‘Serpent’s gift,’ and this one, it fits between ‘possession’ and ‘partnership,’ sort of like a rough translation of ‘wholeness.’ Two selves.”

“Ouroboros,” Pansy murmured as she leaned over the parchment. In an instant, Hermione’s eyes snapped up.

“The serpent, tied. The serpent eating its tail,” she added breathlessly. 

Pansy nodded, pointing to the snakestones. “Ammonites, like you said. But these don’t really have a natural end. It’s like they’ve been smoothed out, unending.”

“Merlin,” Hermione muttered as she picked up the first stone and turned it in her palm, “you’re right, they don’t end. But I don’t—I—what does it mean?” Every note she had read on ancient symbolism spun through her head at lightning speed and she struggled to catalogue them all now in a way that made sense.

“Granger, slow down,” Pansy plucked the stone from her hand and set it back on the parchment, and Hermione shuddered in response.

“How did I miss this?” she hissed, ignoring Pansy’s request.

“It might mean something, it might not,” Pansy reached out and gripped Hermione’s arm, tightly enough that Hermione took note, eyes meeting hers.

Those damned eyes, dark holes of green that seemed to mirror her every thought. Hermione broke her gaze.

“Alright, okay, you’re right. This just…I feel like it might help connect some of the missing pieces.”

“I think so too,” Pansy’s hand fell from her arm and Hermione’s eyes went to spot against her skin that now felt cold.

“We should get back to the inn, I have more of my books in my room for reference. I think if something was going to happen here, it would have by now.” Hermione gathered up the stones and laid them back in their box, the parchment softly beside them.

“I’ll get the boys.” Pansy stood to leave and Hermione forced herself to keep her eyes on the stones in front of her and not on Pansy’s back as she strode away.

-

“We’ll get lunch,” Ron yawned and nodded towards Theo, who quickly shared his sentiments.

“It’s past lunch,” Hermione bristled, feeling stifled by the air in the inn. 

“Good, we’ll get dinner then,” Ron teased as he tugged on the back of Theo’s robe to follow him. “Unlike you, the rest of us need regular meals in a day, ‘Mione. We can’t all live off knowledge alone.” 

Hermione resisted the urge to charm his fringe into oblivion.

“Don’t do anything exciting till we’re back,” he called over his shoulder, pointedly ignoring Hermione’s level stare.

“We might as well begin,” Hermione—irritated, excited, and altogether on edge from their discovery—was already halfway up the stairs when she heard Pansy’s footsteps behind her.

Pansy closed Hermione’s door behind her and stood at the entrance.

“Here, this one,” Hermione dropped a heavy book on the small table in the corner of the room, “is about magical symbolism, I’ll start with the book I brought that touches on—”

“Granger,” Pansy interrupted, her voice firm but kind.

“—on Muggle alchemy symbols, which I’m not sure will be overly useful but it’s worth looking before I rule it out and—”

“Granger.” Louder this time, Pansy moved into the centre of the room, blocking Hermione’s hurried path from one stack of books to the other. “Take a second, alright? It’s been a stressful day.” 

Hermione dragged a chair over to where she stood and sat down, arms and legs crossed. Pansy took the other chair, exhaustion showing as she rubbed at her eyes. Hermione pursed her lips together and let the silence stretch between them in what felt like a familiar routine. 

“See?” Pansy stifled a yawn, “it won’t kill us to just—”

“So,” Hermione interrupted, uncrossed her legs, re-crossed them on the other side, “Theo and I talked.”

Wary, Pansy looked up. “Alright.” 

Hermione took in the set line of her jaw and the brush of her hair against the edge of her neck. She thought she saw her jaw visibly set in place and felt a rush of nerves.

“You’re an Occlumens.” 

Pansy stiffened, but only barely. Hermione’s eyes darted to her hands, where her knuckles whitened as she clenched her hand.

“He told you, then,” Pansy surmised, voice carefully neutral.

“He did.” Hermione tried to keep her eyes level with Pansy’s as the two stared at each other.

“Go on then, tell me why I’m awful for not telling you.”

“You are awful,” Hermione pointed out, matching Pansy’s tone, “but I’m not mad. Although you need to stop doing it as we _speak_ , because now that I’m aware of it, the bond feels like a roadblock on your end.”

Pansy nodded stiffly, her hand slowly unclenching, and Hermione felt the bond thrum in the air between them. A cascade of emotions flew through the connection and Hermione blinked against the onslaught, feeling Pansy’s reluctance, a hint of betrayal, confusion, exhaustion, and something warm and enclosed that Hermione couldn’t put a name to. 

“Enough for you, Granger?” Pansy was watching her, guarded again. 

Hermione did her best not to sigh. In terms of their usual arguments, neither of them had shouted, stormed out, or said anything particularly devastating quite yet. 

“Yeah, I mean—look—I’m not trying to make this more difficult. It just doesn’t seem fair you get to withhold what’s going on from your end and I don’t.” Hermione struggled to put her thoughts into words, her hands already working through her curls.

“Ah, Hermione Granger, the great guardian of fairness. Please, let’s go over the contract we signed when we entered this mutually agreed-upon curse,” Pansy bit back, quicker than before. 

“Pansy, please, don’t be an arse today. Don’t push me away.” Hermione couldn’t keep the tiredness from creeping into her voice this time. 

“I’m not pushing you away, Granger.” Pansy stood and pulled her cloak off her shoulders, tossing it on top of the table. Hermione mirrored her, standing to her feet, chair legs scraping against wood.

“I can literally _feel_ you distancing yourself,” Hermione laughed in disbelief. “Why did you close yourself off to me? What are you so afraid of?”

“Gods, is that what Theo told you? That I’m scared?” A flicker of anger crossed Pansy’s face and Hermione pushed her chin out, indignant. 

“He did,” Hermione confirmed.

“He’s wrong, he doesn’t get it.” Pansy shook her head.

“Get what? What’re your excuses, Pansy? Going to blame the bond? Blame me? Blame some ridiculous notion of protecting the both of us?” Hermione pulled her hands from her hair and folded them back across her chest. She felt both wildly out of control but also measured—focused—for the first time in a long time.

“This is about protecting _you_. I—I just—I’m not asking for that much,” Hermione continued, holding up a hand when Pansy tried to cut in, “so fuck the bond. I don’t care if all of this—” she gestured between them, “is fake, is part of the curse, whatever it is. You don’t have to be some loving partner to me, Pansy, that’s not what I’m asking. Just some damn decency to be honest with me. I—I want you, alright? If we break the bond tomorrow and we hate each other’s guts after, fine. But right now…I want you.”

Hermione dropped her hands to her sides, her burst of bravery having drained the last of the fight out of her. Pansy stood still, looking bewildered for once. 

“I can’t give you what you want,” she whispered.

“I know,” Hermione murmured, reaching out to pull Pansy’s hand into her own, “and I don’t care.”

Pansy let Hermione tug her closer. Hermione fit against her easily and the two of them stood quietly, though the bond felt like electricity in the air. 

“Just for right now?” Hermione breathed, tilting her head up to see. 

“Yeah,” Pansy exhaled out the last of her hesitation, her hand coming up to cup Hermione’s chin, brush a curl from her face, “just for right now.”


	12. Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big thanks to my beta Szuvern for putting up with my ramblings and helping me get this chapter out xx

Pansy heard Hermione’s soft inhale at her words, felt the quickening of her heart against her chest. The bond pulsed around them and Pansy leaned into it, into the feeling of Hermione pressed tightly against her, asking for her. It was more than she could have hoped for. More than she thought she deserved. At Hermione’s words, the reluctance she had clung to for so many weeks cracked and crumbled around her. She had held back for long enough. She wanted this, she wanted _her_.

Gripping Hermione’s chin in her hand, Pansy took in the searching brown eyes staring up at her, hungry. The smattering of freckles across Hermione’s nose, the endless mass of dark curls, the curve of the cupid’s bow on her upper lip when her lips parted in anticipation. Desire coiled inside her so firmly it almost hurt.

Pansy brought her mouth hard against Hermione’s, needing to feel the press of her lips against hers. Her fingers tugged out the remnants of Hermione’s braid, twisting her hand into the thick curls and holding her tight, the other impatiently pulling at her woollen jumper.

Pansy crowded Hermione towards the corner table, unable to break away from their kiss. Hermione panted into her mouth, her tongue gliding over hers. Without looking, Pansy shoved aside the stack of books lining the table and allowed them to thud in a pile on the floor. She hooked her hands under Hermione’s thighs, easily lifting her onto table until they were level. Hermione gasped, half-lidded eyes flying open. 

Pansy helped her tug her jumper up and over her head. Her eyes glazed over as they fixed on the soft lines of Hermione’s skin—the silver line of her scar, the dip between her breasts, the birthmark against her shoulder, the softness of her stomach. Pansy wanted all of her, wanted to bury herself against Hermione’s skin and breathe her in. She felt Hermione’s hands against her side and quickly discarded her own shirt, watching as Hermione reached out to touch her, to feel her. Impatient, Pansy pulled her closer by a hand on the back of her neck, slotting their legs together until Hermione’s knee pressed tight against her inner thigh. Hermione tilted her hips up at contact and Pansy barely stifled a groan. Hermione beneath her hands was intoxicating, knowing she had her—fully—for that moment. 

“Pansy,” Hermione breathed, her voice caught between a whine and a demand. Her bottom lip was wet, swollen from Pansy’s teeth pulling at it, sucking at it. 

Pansy swallowed Hermione’s next words with her kiss, pushing her hips flush. She moved to the side of her mouth, the edge of her jaw, sinking her teeth gently into the soft flesh of Hermione’s neck, urged on by her slight trembling, impatient moans escaping her lips. 

“Tell me—” Hermione gasped at her bite, “tell me that you’ve wanted this.”

“I’ve wanted this,” Pansy murmured, her mouth barely lifting from its place against Hermione’s shoulder. It was the truth. She had thought about this moment, played out every scenario a hundred times in her head, always wanting more. 

“Again,” Hermione managed, voice tight, almost keening as Pansy’s tongue found her nipple—pulled it into her mouth.

“I’ve wanted this,” Pansy’s voice hummed against her skin, teasing. She sucked her nipple lightly, tongue swishing across it maddeningly slow. Hermione was melting under her touch and she wanted to stretch out every moment—soak in every second of it. 

Hermione’s head lolled back, resting against her shoulders and the back wall. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, nails dragging over wood. Pansy glanced up, her eyes finding the thin strip of scar across Hermione’s neck. Seeing it never failed to send a jolt through her. It twisted her gut, a reminder of their shared past. She wanted to cover every inch of Hermione with her mouth, beg her forgiveness with her lips.

“Up,” Pansy uttered, startling Hermione from her haze, motioning for her to lift her hips so Pansy could tug down her jeans, discarding them across the room. “Absolutely lush,” she murmured, hands grazing along Hermione’s thighs. Pansy dropped to her knees in front of her, Hermione quickly tilting her hips up in response, legs falling open. Pansy felt herself teetering on the edge of control, the bond swirling thick around them. She buried her face against Hermione’s inner thigh, her tongue heavy against the delicate skin, tracing wet patterns, her teeth catching, nibbling. She could hear Hermione’s quick breaths above her—ragged, waiting. 

-

Hermione tried to calm her breathing, staring down as Pansy’s tongue moved against her skin, outlining the line of her inner thigh, so close Hermione bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop from calling out. Pansy looked bloody perfect, black hair brushing against her thigh, eyes heavy, lips shiny from spit. 

“Merlin—please,” she hissed, inching her hips closer to the edge of the table, mouth falling open when Pansy’s tongue pushed deep inside of her, pulling out to glide up and roll against her clit. Hermione’s gasp caught in her chest, taking in Pansy’s hand pushing her leg up by her thigh, cupping the underside of her arse, the other firm against Hermione’s leg that dangled over the table. She felt rushing heat all along her body, on the tops of her cheeks, the pit of her stomach, fixed between the warmth of the bond and Pansy’s mouth against her. 

“I—I need more,” she pleaded, hands falling to the crown of Pansy’s head, digging her fingers into her hair, grasping for something. Pansy murmured a response, her hand on Hermione’s thigh moving to slide two fingers inside of her, working in tandem with her tongue. Hermione pushed her hips up to move with Pansy, needing more, needing to feel all of her—barely holding herself together. 

“Pansy.” Breathless, she pulled the hair between her hands tightly, Pansy’s head jerking up in response.

“Closer—I want,” she moaned, Pansy’s fingers still inside her, “I want you closer.”

Pansy slowly pulled out her fingers, her breathing shallow, before standing and quickly ridding herself of her jeans. Hermione clamoured back to make room but Pansy reached out and pulled her closer. Instinctively, Hermione wrapped her legs around Pansy’s waist, letting Pansy lift her up until she had walked the few steps towards the small bed. Hermione dropped onto the bed, Pansy gently pushing her down as she climbed on top of her so the two of them fit, knees straddling across her hips. 

“Better?” Pansy trailed her mouth along her jaw, hand steadying herself against Hermione’s waist. Hermione dragged her eyes across Pansy’s naked body. Her hands palmed the softness of her chest, her nipples hardened and pliant, realizing through a heady mixture of pleasure that her fingers were skimming across dozens of reed-thin scars that criss-crossed Pansy’s torso. They felt like fine ridges, old marks marring the expanse of her pale skin. Hermione wanted to ask—wanted desperately to know what had caused these, but Pansy had pressed the pad of her thumb back against Hermione’s clit and she lost herself in the process. 

“Can you—?” Hermione groaned as Pansy’s fingers slid inside of her again, rocking against her. She felt the well of pleasure building steadily inside of her, on instinct reaching out to cup Pansy’s cheek with her other hand. Pansy leaned her face into her hand, kissing the centre of her palm, catching a finger in her mouth, sucking against the pad of Hermione’s thumb. 

Hermione felt pricks of pleasure burst along her body, drowning in the feel of Pansy’s hand against her, inside her, coaxing her on. Her muscles tightened and she gasped into the space between them, her whole body tensing. The rushing in her ears roared to a peak—the bond narrowing between them until she thought it might suffocate them. Her orgasm brought her to the edge and caught her seconds before she fell—shuddering—pushed against the bed by Pansy’s weight, Pansy’s mouth insistent upon hers, dragging Hermione back into the moment. 

Hermione tried to pull Pansy closer, Pansy’s face now buried in the crook of her neck, their chests heaving in uneven rhythms. Her whole body felt alight. Sweat beaded along her forehead and down her back. She was vaguely aware of the discomfort of her back on the old bed. Pansy’s skin against hers, slick, soft. Unconsciously, Hermione wrapped her arms around Pansy’s back. They barely fit—the bed was too narrow, Pansy too tall—but Hermione gripped her tightly, bleary-eyed, the air cooling their skin. Strands of Pansy’s hair stuck to Hermione’s neck, and Hermione felt Pansy press a clumsy kiss to the sensitive spot just under her ear. Her grip tightened. 

“I want—” Hermione tried to put words to her desire, thankful that Pansy seemed to sense what she was trying to say. Pansy rolled them over, moving up the bed until she could lean against the back wall, Hermione pulling herself up until she was seated in the space between her legs. Hermione remained still for a moment, their eyes meeting. Tentatively, Hermione moved her hands. She grazed her fingers over the flat firmness of Pansy’s stomach, the long line of her thigh when her legs fell open in response to her touch. Pansy’s teeth caught the edge of her own lip when Hermione’s hand fumbled against Pansy’s hip, the other running a finger gently from her clit to her opening, coaxed on by Pansy’s sharp intake of breath. 

“More, Granger,” Pansy gritted out from clenched teeth. Hermione pushed her middle and forefinger inside, letting her thumb rest tightly against Pansy’s clit. Pansy’s free hand latched onto the back of Hermione’s neck—fingers knotting into her curls—pulling her up until she leaned more fully over Pansy, Pansy’s mouth finding hers. Their kiss was messy, out of control. Hermione nibbled Pansy’s bottom lip, Pansy bit too hard when Hermione’s fingers found that delicious spot, panted open-mouthed when she sucked at her lip.

“Merlin, Hermione,” Pansy breathed, rolling her hips. Hermione looked up at her through the fog of the room and thought her heart could burst at any moment.

“There,” Pansy groaned, voice muffled around Hermione’s lips. She was still riding Hermione’s fingers, moans swallowed by her tongue heavy in her mouth. She heard Pansy’s soft gasp in her ear, felt her muscles tense around her, panting out the remnants of her orgasm against Hermione’s ear—murmuring Hermione’s name between sighs.

She wanted to suspend them in time. Her on top of Pansy—limbs twisted to fit—caught up in the heat of the bond, the heat of their bodies. Pansy’s hand—brushing a damp curl from the nape of her neck. It was tender and strange and unlike anything Hermione had felt before. She pulled her hand back and moved until she laid beside Pansy, their bodies pressed tight together on top of the duvet. For a moment, Pansy held her close, their breathing syncing as they soaked in the aftermath. 

When she closed her eyes she saw Pansy’s face, lips parted. She tried to reconcile this new version of Pansy in her head – the Pansy who watched her with a disinterested gaze versus the Pansy that held her tightly, told her she wanted her. Hesitantly, Hermione tried to reach into the bond, wanting to know what she was feeling. 

“Stop,” Pansy told her, voice flat—cracking. 

Hermione shifted beside her, vaguely guilty. “You can feel that?” 

“Mm.” Pansy carefully moved until she was folding herself up and off the bed. Hermione felt the distance immediately. 

Hermione wanted to reach out again, pull her back in. But Pansy was already on the other side of the room, the mattress creaking beneath the change in weight, pulling her clothes back on from where they had landed in heap. Hermione’s eyes followed her closely, wanting to soak in the sight of her, eyes quickly tracing the pattern of scars on her chest, the dip in her waist. In contrast, Hermione felt incredibly vulnerable, her skin going cold where it had been warm a second ago.

“Here,” Pansy held out her jumper and Hermione nodded in thanks, suddenly shy, the reality of what they had done burning on her cheeks. 

“We should get dressed. Ron and Theo will likely be back,” Pansy announced as she ran her fingers through her hair until it looked considerably less tousled.

“Yeah, I mean—dinner, so, we should…” Hermione tried to move from her spot on the bed, cognizant of the dried sweat on her limbs that made her skin slightly stick to the cotton duvet. She didn’t look up when she finally climbed off, clothed in only her jumper. She found her jeans and quietly pulled them on, avoiding eye contact with Pansy. 

Pansy seemed fine, at least to Hermione. The heat had gone from her face, her clothes were unrumpled, almost like nothing had happened at all. But Hermione felt a little shaken. She could still taste Pansy in her mouth. 

“What’s it feel like?” she asked, curiosity overcoming her sudden desire to be swallowed whole by the floorboards.

“What does _what_ feel like?” Pansy answered.

“When I sort of…reach into the bond, I suppose.” Hermione shrugged, pulling her hair back into a passable braid. 

Pansy paused. “Different than Occlumency. Instead of someone trying to push through a fog, this feels like grasping. Intrusive is the wrong word,” she shook her head slightly, “it’s hard to describe. I’m just aware of it. Don’t take this the wrong way – but I’m surprised you haven’t learned.” 

“Well,” Hermione laughed nervously, “can’t be good at everything, like you said.”

“I never said that,” Pansy’s face broke into a grin, “but I’m sure I could teach you. If you wanted to learn.”

“I’m really, really okay, but, er, thanks for the offer.” Hermione, sceptical of how well that hypothetical would end, quickly disagreed.

“Scared I’d find lots of incriminating things in there, Granger?” 

Hermione squinted up at Pansy’s teasing smile, softer than it usually looked. She thought for a moment about stepping towards Pansy, catching her face in her hands, kissing the smile from her lips.

“Hermione?” Ron was knocking, loudly. The door gave after he jostled the handle and pushed himself into the room, paper bags stacked in his arms. Theo was on his heels, arms equally full.

“We could only find pub food, but we brought up a few things.” Ron trudged past them and set the bags down on the empty table with a heave while Theo stood at the door.

“Anyways, ‘Mione I thought you might want—” Ron paused, his eyes moving from the small mountain of books precariously tossed onto the floor from earlier and the table, “—some chips. Got extra.” The tops of his ears tinged pink, but he put on a bright smile and handed Hermione a paper bag, the bottom speckled with grease.

“Thanks, Ron.” Hermione took the bag and did her best to avoid looking directly at him. Whether Theo knew or not was harder to decipher. He had his sleeves pushed up, elbow-deep in crinkling brown bags as he passed out sandwiches and chatted to the room about the wait for their dinners. 

“So what did you two decide on for tomorrow?” Theo asked, and Hermione’s eyes shot to Pansy, uncertain.

“Well—” she tried.

“Hermione has three areas she thinks we should look at in the morning,” Pansy filled in, nonchalant. 

“And the ouroboros symbol?” Theo continued.

“Still have to look into it,” Hermione said, hoping Theo wouldn’t ask why the reference books were scattered on the ground. 

-

When Hermione finally closed her eyes for the night, after hours of reading and fielding questions from Ron, Theo, and Pansy as they flipped through books together, she felt a soft thrumming through her body. The bond hadn’t felt this settled since that first night when she slept beside Pansy, a wall of pillows between them. In the weeks that passed, she assumed the bond had simply stabilized. The jitters subsided, the aches were less often, Pansy’s emotions a thin thread. But now—without Pansy using Occlumency—the bond seemed to surge back to life, curling around them when they had held each other, pooling warm around Hermione as she settled into bed.

Pansy had brought her tea that evening. Well, she had brought her _and_ Theo tea, but she had asked her. Knew how she took it. Their fingers brushed when Hermione took the cup from her hands and their eyes had held for a moment too long. Pansy’s emotions were there—at the surface—when Hermione focused on the bond: calm, sated. The only thing that announced that their actions towards each other were perhaps…out of the ordinary, were the startled stares of Ron when he saw the two of them interact. He hid it well, recovered quickly, but Hermione could tell he was surprised. 

And when Hermione came down for breakfast the next morning, the three of them were already seated together. Huddled around a small table in the adjoining cafe, Ron nursing a large cup of coffee, Theo wolfing down a plate of eggs, Pansy’s nose in a book. The large glass windows of the inn reflected back another misty day, the clouds laying heavy against the ground. Odd rays of sun broke through the haze and illuminated patches of garden. Hermione thought for a moment she might still be in a dream. 

“Morning,” Hermione smiled sleepily at the group. Ron raised his cup in a hello and Theo murmured back a greeting, while Pansy quickly shut the book she was reading and dropped it onto her lap, the pages colliding together with a sharp smack. 

“Up and at it already?” Hermione fell into the empty chair beside Pansy, feeling lighter than she had in ages. 

“Mhm, thought I’d get a head start.” Pansy tucked the book out of sight, making a show of heaping piles of blackberry jam on the thick slice of sourdough toast in front of her, knife scraping away.

“Good.” Hermione feigned a yawn, hand darting out and snatching the book from under Pansy’s folded jumper on her lap. She chuckled at Pansy’s noise of surprise and held the book up in triumph, meeting Ron and Theo’s confused stares. Hermione finally looked at the book in her hands, palm gripping its heavy spine. The cover was familiar – she recognized it instantly. _The Rights of Magical Creatures_. Her book. 

“Oh.” Hermione, slightly dumbfounded, peered at her own name neatly stamped at the bottom of the book’s cover. “This is mine,” she announced, knowing she sounded silly, unable to think of something more intelligible to say. 

“Technically,” Pansy reached over and plucked the book from Hermione’s hand, “it’s mine. I bought it.”

“You…you bought my book?” Still puzzled, Hermione glanced from Pansy’s face to the dark green cover of the book she had poured years of her life into. 

“Ron said it was good.” Pansy shrugged and bit into her toast. 

“Right, of course,” Hermione breathed, chest heavy, throat tight. 

“It is good,” Ron mumbled through his own breakfast, nudging Hermione’s leg under the table with his knee. Nodding, she looked up. Ron’s eyes were crinkled from his smile and she knew that look on his face from years of friendship. 

After a moment of recovery, Hermione helped herself to toast. She gestured towards Pansy, “Glad to know I still have fans,” keeping a straight face despite Pansy’s indignant snort and Ron’s rumbling laugh. 

The morning felt easy, light. As Hermione licked a drop of marmalade off the edge of her thumb, listening to Theo and Pansy’s banter, she almost forgot why they were there.


	13. Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi all, hope you're all keeping well and warm (or cool, depending where you are) xx

“I’ll just be a tick,” Hermione smiled and waved off Ron. Theo and Pansy were already waiting outside, while Ron had to run back to his room and grab his coat. Hermione made her way to the corner of the inn where a black and metal payphone hung against the wall. She took a deep breath and quickly plugged in the numbers she had memorized by heart. She had only called the number once before, but she remembered Harry telling her about their new landline and how excited Draco was to be able to chat with his mum when she called from France. It was still early enough in the morning that she might catch him before he left for the day. The phone rung for a few moments, finally clicking on the other end.

“Malfoy-Potter residence,” the familiar voice clipped formally through the receiver.

“Hi Draco, it’s me.”

“Oh, hi darling. Everything alright? Has the Weasel managed to botch things up enough and you’re finally calling for a lifeline?” Draco’s tone brightened at Hermione’s voice and she grinned into the phone.

“Sorry to disappoint, he’s done brilliantly.”

“Well, the trip isn’t over yet,” Draco surmised, and she could picture him on the other end of the line, sipping his morning tea, inspecting his nails carefully.

Hermione laughed, holding the phone tight to her ear. “I’ll be sure to keep you posted. I don’t have too long, but I was wanting your opinion on something quick.”

Draco paused, his breathing even. “Go on.”

“It’s Pansy.”

“Ah,” Draco sighed, “has _she_ managed to botch things, then?”

“No, no, nothing like that. We, er, well the other night…” Hermione trailed off, feeling her ears go red.

“Dear Merlin, Hermione,” Draco mock-gasped, “has that nasty Slytherin coerced you into bed already?”

“Oh cut it, Draco,” she sighed, “I just, I needed someone to tell.”

“And Ron wasn’t up to the task?” Draco asked.

Hermione nibbled on her lip and glanced down the hallway, checking it was still empty. “I think Ron knows. Or he suspects, at least. Which is fine. And it was great, it was perfect. But after…it was almost like…like it never happened? Like it’s just normal again?”

“And you want my advice,” Draco concluded, filling in the gaps in her story. 

“Yeah, I think so. You know her. Is this something she does a lot? Do you think she’s treating this casually?” Hermione questioned.

“What, does she get trapped in ancient bonds and begin a strange and rather untoward journey into discovering who she is and what she really wants out of life?”

“Draco,” Hermione—exasperated—tried not to laugh. “I’m serious. This is serious!”

“Alright, alright. Well,” Draco exhaled into the receiver, “she’s rather elusive about her love life. Millicent was the first person she formally dated, at least that she told us about. But I’m sure you know that by now. She’s not the most emotionally available person I’ve met, not like our Harry.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, equal parts frustrated but soothed by Draco’s comfortable chatter. 

“And I do think she regularly engages in…shall we say, casual trysts? But I don’t know, Hermione, I don’t think she takes your situation lightly. Have you tried talking to her about it?” Draco tread carefully, his voice light.

“Er,” Hermione switched the receiver to her other ear, buying time, “a bit? I don’t know, Ron and Theo are here, we haven’t had a ton of alone time together. Before it seemed like that’s all we had, and now that I feel like I’d really like a minute alone, they’re always there. And we’ve been focused on trying to figure out this bond.”

“And the time you did have alone, you snogged her face off. Am I on the right track?” Draco supplied.

“Something like that,” Hermione muttered, wondering if she should have tried getting hold of Ginny first. 

“Listen, darling,” Draco smoothly changed tones, “be careful, is all I’ll say. I love both you and Pansy very much, and I’m glad you’ve been able to relieve some of the…tension of the past weeks. But be careful. This is a stressful situation you’re both in. Pansy isn’t one to get doe-eyed and you’ve got bigger things on your plate to worry about. Focus on the task at hand, and let cooler heads prevail. I want all of you—yes, the Weasel too—to come home in one piece. Just be careful.”

Hermione nodded, her hands gripping the plastic phone tightly. “Thanks Draco, I—I appreciate it. Don’t tell Harry I called though, please? I don’t want him to worry.” 

“Alright, darling. I’ve got to run off to work but you’re okay?” Draco questioned. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Hermione managed to put a smile into her voice.

“Good, take care of yourself. Love to you and the others.” The phone disconnected and Draco was gone, a flat dial tone replacing his voice. Hermione clicked the receiver back into place, torn between feeling grateful for his advice and also like the shine had been taken from her morning. 

-

They managed to visit seven sites on Sunday alone, all clusters Hermione had marked as sites of importance. While they had started the day lighthearted, by the third site, the four of them had little left but grim determination. Tired, Ron had slipped on the side of one of hills at the fairy glen, covering himself in a slick of mud and torn-up moss. And with each area that turned up nothing, Hermione felt her mild anxiety morph into something deeper. They were all tired. Magically drained, but putting on a brave face, they moved from one location to the next. 

But it all felt wrong, every site as beautiful and desolate as the next, but with nothing for them. On top of it all, her hair had somehow managed to soak up every ounce of moisture in the air. Frizzy wisps stuck to her cheeks and coiled out of the bun she had haphazardly piled on the top of her head. With each disappointment, she felt her jaw tighten, her shoulders hunch. She could feel Pansy’s eyes on her throughout the day. Watching her, sending what Hermione surmised were sympathetic looks in her direction. The bond still felt warm between them, humming softly. Hermione pressed into the comfort of it more than she wanted to admit. 

By the time they apparated back near the inn, they were all dragging their feet. Hermione felt weary down to her very bones, and all conversation had petered out as the sun dipped behind the western cliffs of the isle. The inn was a hazy sight on the hill, light from inside forming a soft glow. 

“D’you hear that?” Ron nodded towards the inn, a grin forming.

“Hear what?” Hermione yawned and tucked her wand away, eager to fall into bed. Seconds later though, she did hear it. Muffled music, a growing din as they approached.

“Oh you’ve got to be joking,” Pansy sighed as Ron laughed at their expressions.

“Suppose I forgot to tell the rest of you lot, but it’s St. Andrew’s Day. The inn is hosting a ceilidh tonight.” Ron lengthened his stride, forcing Hermione to practically jog to match his pace.

“But where will we get reading done?” Exasperated, Hermione looked from Ron to Pansy. The last thing they needed was to try and get research done with racing fiddles and stomping feet below them.

“I guess we won’t be,” Theo noted. He came up behind Hermione and patted her on the shoulder in apology. She looked wearily at the inn as they neared. The overwhelming noise of music, laughter, and glasses clinking tumbled from windows left ajar, thrown open to let in the night air.

When they finally got inside, the inn itself was a mess of people. Ron shouted at her above the noise but she shook her head in response, pushing through the bustle of warm bodies. Occasionally her shoes stuck to the wooden floorboards, remnants of drinks spilled. The air felt dense and the glass panes of the windows still shut were covered in a thick fog. The band stood on a hastily constructed stage to one side, red-faced and playing increasingly faster to the raucous group gathered in the middle of the inn, swinging each other around, arms resting heavily over shoulders, legs moving almost in time to the music. 

“I’m going to go upstairs!” Hermione called to Ron, reaching out to grab at his wrist before he slipped into the crowd and she lost him. Ron doubled back and before Hermione could steady herself against him, he had captured her elbow and unceremoniously swung her into the moving mass of dancers. Pansy and Theo’s faces blurred by as she turned and Ron caught her in another spin. 

“Ronald!” she sputtered, grabbing at his shoulder, pulled along by the movement of dancers and Ron’s cheeky smile coming in and out of view. The sound of fiddles, guitars, and drums filled her ears, pierced by sharp notes of a bagpipe, Ron’s laughter swirling around her. She fumbled down the line, passed from stranger to stranger, barely keeping up. Her exhaustion turned to exhilaration, the heat inside the inn flushing her cheeks. Merlin, she loved Ron. His silliness, his ability to turn her mood around. She watched as he pulled Theo in the mix, the two of them tripping over their own feet. Pansy’s face on the edge of the crowd came into view again and she reached out on a whim, her fingers just catching Pansy’s arm.

“Granger, I’d rather die—” Pansy tried to pull back, her protests quickly drowned out by the music. Hermione gripped Pansy’s hand and laughed when Pansy groaned but allowed Hermione to lead her into the middle of the floor. The lights were low and Hermione squinted up to see Pansy’s face, a smoky haze above their heads. Despite her complaining, Pansy’s lips curved into a reluctant smile, spinning Hermione into a quick twirl, pulling her back in a moment later. Hermione laughed in surprise and couldn’t stop the grin that formed when Pansy’s hand found the small of her back. Their hands folded easily together. And Pansy dipped her, and they spun, and clapped, and stomped and laughed until Hermione was wiping away tears from the corners of her eyes. This was the Pansy she wanted. The one who grinned back at her, opened up for a moment, made her want more. 

When the band paused for a break they found Ron and Theo again, drinks in both hands, pressing cold bottles into their palms. Hermione quickly finished the strange beer Ron had offered her, and another, and another after that. The night felt soft and easy and she clinked her bottle against Pansy’s.

The band started up again, gentler this time. The stomping and clapping faded into longer notes, lighter tones. Time felt like it was moving slower around her and Hermione looked up at Pansy to her left. Her hair was dense and black in the light, and her eyes were on her—holding her put. Without looking, Hermione handed the rest of her drink to Ron. She moved towards her as Pansy slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her in closer, back into the middle of the floor. Hermione breathed in the faint scent of Pansy’s hair, leaned her head against the edge of her shoulder. The bond felt snug around them – pressing them together, holding them tight. It was strangely intimate, and Hermione felt her heart clench painfully behind her ribs.

“Relax, Granger,” Pansy breathed in her ear, lips brushing against her hair. 

“I am,” Hermione exhaled, “I think, for once.” Pansy’s coat was rough against her cheek but she didn’t mind the zipper that pushed against her jaw. She wanted to be here; and Pansy kept holding her, her hand occasionally moving to run across Hermione’s curls, to rest against the nape of her neck, to slide down the line of her back. Hermione felt like they were back in her room again, as if the distance of the day had melted into the night and she was getting that moment she craved, that moment of being together that had been cut so short before. The ache was there but it felt manageable: sweet and heavy in her chest.

The song ended abruptly around them, rousing applause taking its place. Pansy didn’t let go of her hand but instead lead them out through the crowd, back towards the door of the inn. Hermione followed Pansy as she wove through. She felt like she was wading through honey, her body swaying with the memory of the music, gently bumping into the backs of other partygoers, gripping Pansy’s hand tightly just to make sure she was still there.

The sky had blackened since their hours spent inside, but it was clear and the air was cool against their skin. Groups had gathered outside and their chatter was a hum around them, punctuated by loud laughter and hearty slaps on the back. 

“We should find the stars,” Hermione announced, pulling against Pansy’s hand. Pansy turned back towards her. 

“Have you tried looking up, Granger?” she tried, her smile widening with Hermione’s scoff.

“Don’t be silly. We just have to go a little further out from the light pollution.” Within seconds, Hermione was pulling Pansy along, forcing her almost into a run across the dewy ground as they moved away from the inn. Hermione slipped against the grass and burst into a fit of laughter when Pansy tried to steady her, both of them ending up partially sliding down the hill together. 

“How about here?” Hermione asked, gesturing to where they landed. Pansy tried to muffle her laughter and shook her head, trying to pull herself up into a more graceful position. 

“It’s perfect,” Pansy confirmed. She shrugged off her coat and laid it behind their heads as Hermione leaned back.

“Look,” Hermione peered up into the darkness and attempted to point, “I think I can see the Plough. That bright one on the left is Mizar, and the fainter one to its right is Alcor. The top one is Dubhe, see? And Merak below it—the bottom of the scoop is Phecda.”

“I see it,” Pansy murmured. “I take it you enjoyed Astronomy class?”

“Got an ‘O’ in fifth year.” Hermione’s eyes were still scanning the sky, her smile easy. “I know you got one as well.”

“How’d you find that out?” Pansy rolled onto her side, propping herself up by her elbow.

“I asked around,” Hermione grinned. “Now pay attention or you’ll miss the stars.” She proceeded to point out as many constellations as she could find, seeing if they could find the bright corner of Lyra, the sharp points of Cepheus. 

“I can’t see that one,” Pansy complained, laughing at Hermione’s indignation that she couldn’t see Cassiopeia.

“It’s right there!” Hermione insisted. “Pansy, you’re not even trying.”

Her cheeks hurt from smiling and she fell back against Pansy’s coat, almost giddy.

“I want to remember you like this,” Pansy’s voice was soft beside her. 

“What, mad?” Hermione grinned. She reached to find Pansy’s hand. It was simpler in the dark, drinks shared between them, the stars a blanket above.

“No, you know what I mean.” Pansy laced her fingers between hers. Hermione wondered if Pansy’s cheeks were flushed. She wondered if Pansy had ever blushed in her life. 

“You’re going soft on me, Parkinson,” Hermione murmured. 

“Actually,” Pansy laughed, “I think it’s the _very_ busy and _great Unspeakable Pansy Parkinson_ – by your admission.” 

“I’d apologize, but you really were being foul that time,” Hermione pointed out.

“I know. Theo says it’s become a personality trait,” Pansy acknowledged. The bond tightened slightly, and Hermione felt her discomfort through it. 

“Hermione, the things that happened between us at Hogwarts, the things I said—you didn’t deserve that. I was lost, angry, and an absolute prat.” Pansy’s voice was soft but certain. 

“Apology accepted,” Hermione breathed. “And now?”

Pansy chuckled and the tension eased around them. “I think just angry, and probably still a prat.”

“Things have felt a little easier these past few days though, haven’t they?” Tentatively, Hermione tried to study Pansy’s face in the dark, knowing partially what she was feeling but wondering what she was thinking. 

“Yeah,” Pansy breathed, “they have. It’s been nice.”

“Like we’re a team,” Hermione decided.

“Right,” Pansy murmured.

“Pansy, when all of this is over, I want you to know…I think this is something.” Hermione struggled to find the right words, but she felt coaxed on by her need to confess. 

“What’s something?”

“You must already know. This—,” Hermione pressed her thumb lightly into Pansy’s palm, “it’s…it’s more, you know? It’s more than the bond.”

“What happened to ‘fuck the bond?’” Pansy teased, but her voice was tight. 

“I still say fuck it,” Hermione whispered, “but I want you to know. Sometimes, this doesn’t feel like the bond. It’s confusing, because I think maybe the bond is just rewarding us for getting along once in a while, but I just have this sense that the feeling is my own, you know? It’s mine.”

Pansy exhaled slowly and paused. “I don’t think I understood half of that, but yeah.”

“Yeah what?” Hermione pressed.

“Yeah, I have a sense too. I don’t know.” Pansy shook her head. She had laid back against the ground, head on her coat. The two of them faced each other, only a nose apart, voices low. 

Hermione tried to focus on the bond. Pansy didn’t recoil. Pansy’s emotions washed over her—anxiety, a slice of fear, hardened determination, but also curiosity, affection, a gentleness Hermione had only seen glimpses of. And desire. Desire that felt jumbled up and complicated and raw but there, nonetheless. She laid her hand against Pansy’s cheek, wanting her to know she understood, at least a little.

Pansy carefully brushed aside a curl, pressing her mouth to Hermione’s forehead. 

“I don’t want to lose that feeling,” Hermione murmured.

“We’ll be alright, Granger, I promise.” Pansy’s lips moved against her skin and in that moment, she believed her.


	14. Cave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, apologies for the wait for this chapter. It turns out finding motivation in quarantine is harder than I expected. Hope you're all safe and okay xx

Pansy woke feeling stiffer than usual. When she tried to sit up, her neck protested painfully. The realization they had fallen asleep outside dawned on her as she blinked up into the muted light of the morning. It was still early and the constant mist that seemed to hover near the ground was dense. Hermione was still curled up beside her on her coat, limbs tucked close against the cold. 

“Hermione.” Pansy gently touched her arm. Hermione shifted, stretched, rolled onto her other side. Her hair spread around her in tangled curls as she yawned and batted away Pansy’s hand. 

“Granger,” she tried again, grinning in spite of herself.

“No,” Hermione mumbled, eyes still firmly shut.

“Granger, I know it’s early, but it’s bloody freezing out. We’ve got to get inside.” Pansy helped pull Hermione to her feet, letting her keep her coat as they shuffled back towards the inn.

The man at the desk nodded towards them as they entered. Pansy watched the blush that started at Hermione’s neck spread across her cheeks. Her eyes were still heavy-lidded from sleep. She caught Pansy’s gaze and grinned, part guilty, part delight. The coil in Pansy’s belly flipped without warning and she let the feeling run through her body. It was becoming more familiar now, the strangeness of opening herself up. 

“Morning,” they called in the direction of the front desk.

“Morning, you two! Don’t be shy, you’re certainly not the first to sleep outside after a ceilidh.” He waved them on and Pansy held back a laugh.

“That’s comforting, isn’t it,” she remarked. Hermione bumped her shoulder, shrugging off the coat and laying it across Pansy’s arm. 

“Mildly,” Hermione agreed as they took the stairs slowly. “We should get ready before the boys wake up.”

“Agreed. I don’t want Ron coming down on me.” Pansy nudged Hermione back, ignoring Hermione’s eye roll.

“Oh please.” Hermione pushed hair from her face and shook her head. “Besides, Ron likes you now.”

Pansy hummed in response. “‘Like’ might be a strong word, Granger. Plus, I already promised Draco ages ago I wouldn’t befriend Ron. He practically made me sign a contract. Let’s not push it.”

“Rubbish, all of it,” Hermione teased. “Draco thinks he can micro-manage everyone, the whole Ministry, really.”

“That, we agree on,” Pansy grinned.

When they parted at the top of the stairs, Hermione reached out. Her hand found Pansy’s arm, fingers gently squeezing before she dropped her hand. Pansy felt a press against her throat. She reached out in response, nails tracing the notch in Hermione’s wrist. Their kiss was slow. Pansy felt like she was kissing the tiredness from them both. Hermione sighed against her mouth, cheeks still cold from the night. Their drinks still lingered on their tongues but Pansy couldn’t pull herself away. She listened to Hermione’s breathing, let her hand pull at a curl, let herself ease into the softness of the bond—strung between them, both of them weights on either end of it. Hermione was the one to finally pull back. Their hands had intertwined as they stood together. Pansy felt nervous at the intimacy of it all, the familiarity both strange and something she longed for all at once. 

“Before the boys decide to show up,” Hermione muttered, eyes glancing down the long hallway. Pansy nodded, carefully removing her hands and letting them hand at her side. 

“Meet you down there, then?” Pansy asked. The edge of Hermione’s lip curved in response, the tilt of her head barely a nod. As Hermione turned into her own room, Pansy sucked in a lungful of air, keenly aware of the desire to hold onto whatever had grown between them. 

-

Hermione was flustered, distracted. Over two hours had passed since she left Pansy at the top of the stairs and she still felt like her mind was split in every direction possible.

“You did bring them, didn’t you?” Ron spoke up, concern evident in his voice.

“Obviously, Ronald. Yes, I brought them.” Relief flooded her when her hands felt loose paper in the bottom of her bag, quickly pulling up the stack of notes she had brought along to their next site. 

“Here.” She pushed them into his hands and tried her best to maintain an air of indignation at being questioned. Ron shook his head but lumbered back towards where the four of them had set up a temporary camp. Theo and Pansy were bent over a map and their fingers trailed over various crooked lines, brows furrowed. 

“I think we’re in the right place,” Theo tapped the paper. His hair was more tousled than usual, constantly pushed out of place by the persistent wind that morning. 

“I’ll be surprised if this is the place. This wasn’t on any of the original maps I consulted.” Hermione chewed the edge of her lip, exasperated that Ron and Theo had insisted that morning they visit a location not on her list. And who was Roger, anyways, to suggest such a place? Ron had apparently befriended one of the staff the night before, asked him about local sites, and had gotten a drunken tale of warning about this site in particular. 

“Well, no stone unturned, right ‘Mione? We can do a quick look around, be out of here in an hour,” Ron replied, startling her out of her thoughts. 

“Yes, but we’re looking for some sort of imposing structure, something that would have stood tall, I think. A souterrain is completely underground, Ron,” Hermione reminded him as she shifted against the cold. 

“Here!” Pansy shouted, and Hermione spun to see she had wandered away from them, standing over a dip in the grass. As she approached, Hermione noticed how the grass seemed to sink downwards where Pansy stood, a few lone rocks scattered over top. The ground was lumpy and the grass became shorter, just barely hiding an impossibly small opening in the ground, as if the earth had decided to open up just enough. Hermione stopped short in front of it, staring into the pitch darkness of the entrance.

“Looks old enough,” Theo commented.

“What do you think, Granger?” Pansy’s voice was low. Hermione found her eyes and ignored the shiver that worked up her spine.

“I—” she stopped, her hand unconsciously seeking out the familiar feel of her wand pressing against her leg. She gripped it, ran her thumb over the grooves in the wood. “I think so, yeah.”

She knew Pansy felt it too. It was eerie, cold. The open mouth of the earth was both completely unassuming but unbearably close. She watched as Pansy fumbled with her own bag, hands perfectly still despite the thin line of her lips tightly pressed together. 

“We should go in, then,” Pansy announced as she pulled out the box containing the stones and parchment. 

“Pansy, you can’t be serious,” Theo’s voice rose to a pitch Hermione hadn’t heard him use before. “That thing is ancient, you have no idea what’s even in there, how big it is inside. You can’t.”

Hermione struggled against the sudden tightness of her lungs. “We have to, Theo. Can’t you feel that?”

Theo shook his head when Hermione lowered herself to her knees, the dampness of the grass soaking into the fabric of her jeans. She let her hand push into the softness of the dirt, magic thrumming across the top of the ground. Almost like it was responding to her touch. She wasn’t fully certain this would be the place, but this was the best they had found so far. 

“Hermione, listen, we can do a scan of the area instead, find another way—” Ron began a string of protests, cut short by the quick shake of her head.

“This is what we came here for, remember?” The words felt foreign coming from her mouth but she tried to ground herself in the truth of the statement. This was what they had come here for. To Skye. And they had found something, after all. 

“Plus, it should be Pansy and I who go in. You and Theo won’t be able to fit through, regardless,” Hermione quickly added, trying to cut Ron off before he suggested they join. 

Pansy was already moving towards the entrance, handing her cloak and pack to Theo. “The lot of you, enough worrying. Like you said, it’s ancient. It’s not caving in today of all days.” 

Hermione was thankful for Pansy’s resolve despite the uncertainty that was cascading off of her in waves. She stood in silence as Pansy laid flat on her stomach in front of the entrance, wand held out in front of her. She slowly moved forward on her elbows, her shoulders scraping against the weathered stones. She disappeared almost to her feet in a few seconds and Hermione quickly pulled off her cloak before tossing it to Ron. Ron grabbed at her wrist before she turned, and Hermione clutched him close to her for a brief moment. 

“We’ll be alright, Ron. We’ll be out soon, we’re just going to look,” she whispered against his shoulder, patting him firmly on the arm before she too laid out in front of the souterrain entrance. 

Her shoulders were narrower than Pansy’s, letting her pull herself past the entrance more easily, though her bag caught against the ceiling of rocks every few pushes forward. Pansy was close in front of her, the tip of her wand lighting up the row of uneven stones packed tightly around them as they edged their way through what appeared to be a very long tunnel. She lit her own wand and tried force down the panic at the closeness of the stones. They had been laid carefully one on top of the other, small ones on the side, larger stones supporting the earth above. Moss attached itself to the stones near the entrance, thriving on the dampness and the sun. The dirt beneath her was wet from the rain and she dragged herself along, mud gathering and clinging to her clothes. As they moved in deeper, the moss disappeared, replaced only by unending brown and the heavy smell of dirt and mildew. 

“Keep steady, Granger.”

She heard Pansy’s voice reach her from ahead, her shoes the only part of her Hermione could see. It felt like they were moving downwards but she struggled to tell if she was only imagining it. The air certainly felt thinner. She filled her lungs steadily—in for four seconds, out for five—to stop herself from gulping down air. 

“What can you see?” Hermione called out, surprised when the soft echo of her voice found its way back to her. 

“It’s opening up, be careful,” Pansy returned.

Pansy’s feet disappeared, a muffled thud signalling she had landed on solid ground. Hermione scrambled to make her way to where the thin tunnel began to widen and open into a larger space. In the semi-darkness, she grasped for Pansy’s arm, letting her help pull her out and onto her feet. She heard Pansy whisper an intentional _Lumos Maxima_ under her breath before a stream of light hurtled into the centre of the cave, illuminating the walls surrounding them and the thick and scraggly roots that hung from the ceiling and pushed past stones. 

“Merlin,” she whispered. Hermione clutched onto Pansy’s arm as they stood in silence. The cave was roughly the size of a large room, the uneven rocks forming the walls roughly hewn and covered in runes, the stone and dirt floor littered with ammonites. The cool damp from the rock spread over her and she shuddered at the chill. 

“We’d have to be at least eight feet down for this type of structure,” Pansy murmured as she took a tentative step further into the room. Her feet crunched against the loose stones and Hermione held out her arm to stop her. 

“These shouldn’t be here.” She pointed at the array of ammonites at their feet, coiled tightly and glinting dull grey in the light. “We’re nowhere near a beach, and this certainly isn’t limestone.”

“What’re you getting at?” Pansy gently lowered Hermione’s arm. 

“These were…put here. Brought here, I suppose. There’s no other explanation.” Hermione shook her head, uneasiness settling over her. 

The feeling had returned. The unfamiliar magic she had first encountered at the Ministry office was tangible once again, as heavy as when she ran the pad of her thumb over the grooved ridges of the snakestones. 

“Hermione, look.” Pansy shot another streak of light from her wand, sending it to the far corner of the cave. An uneven but tall block of stone, carved where it stood, took shape. Pansy took her hand and carefully pulled them both forward towards it. Hermione gripped Pansy’s palm as tightly as she could, willing her thoughts through the bond. 

She knew Pansy knew. The bond felt like ropes between them, thick and wound so tightly that Hermione struggled to breathe. Together, they moved shoulder to shoulder until they stopped in front of the roughly constructed stone.

“An altar,” Hermione murmured. Despite herself, she reached out. Her fingers met the surprising smoothness of the stone as they moved across barely etched runes. She felt more than heard Pansy’s soft intake of breath as her hands found the carving of the ouroboros in the centre, like her hands knew it would be there all along. She traced where the serpent’s tail disappeared into its mouth, the second snake twisted around the other. Their stone bodies seemed to suggest constant movement, an infinite and cyclical motion. 

Pansy gently pulled Hermione’s hands away, carefully removing the pack she had forgotten about. In a moment, she was holding the box containing the snakestones. 

“They’ll fit here, in the grooves.” Hermione moved to the stone again as if called towards it. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Pansy gently took Hermione’s bag and pulled out the box. The quiet and dull clinking of stones reverberated through the cave when Pansy cradled them in her palm and held them out towards Hermione.

“Here,” she murmured. Hermione plucked the first stone from her grasp, turned it over with her thumb, reading the rune carved in its centre—‘Serpent’s gift.’ Her other hand found the etched ouroboros, fingers trailing until she could fit her index finger in the dip in the stone that matched the rune. She slid the stone into the carved hole. 

Pressure. It felt like immediate pressure. Not yet pain, but an awareness that something in her was building, pressing, nearing the surface. Pansy’s breathing beside her was heavy. She picked up the second stone—‘gateway.’ She retraced where her fingers had scanned, found the matching rune, pushed the stone into the dip in the rock. With trembling hands, she picked up the third. It was easiest to find, the rune for ‘wholeness’ the first her fingers had fallen on. The next stone, ‘two selves,’ took longer. The snakestone almost slipped from her fingers as she searched for its place on the stone altar, sweat budding from her pores. 

The pressure had bloomed into real pain. Pain almost like what she felt that first night when they had tested the bond, pushed it past its limits. Hermione grasped the last stone in her hand, knowing without having to look it read ‘tied.’ The pain started spreading, a burning hole at the base of her neck that trailed to the very tips of her fingers, the edges of her toes. She let her eyelids fall shut and reached through the bond, startled when she couldn’t feel Pansy through it. An emptiness—a hollowness—met her instead.

“Pansy,” she breathed, turning for the first time in minutes towards her. Pansy looked equally alarmed. Her eyes were wide and black in the darkness. Hermione wished desperately that they were above ground, tucked into one of their beds, limbs intertwined, foreheads close, the bond tying them together. She wanted to stretch out those moments for a little longer. She could feel them slipping away, the sweet ache of the bond smothered by the increasing weight and heaviness of the growing pain. 

“We can wait,” she whispered, fumbling for Pansy’s hand. “We haven’t even really, I mean, we haven’t talked about this and I just—” 

“Hermione,” Pansy cut in, her voice thin and uncharacteristically high, “we have to. We have to.”

“No—no, we can—just listen—” Hermione tried to push her fingers between Pansy’s, grasping at her. Panic mixed with the pain, clouding her vision. Pansy’s gaze fixed on the altar, and in a quick motion, her free hand moved to cover Hermione’s right hand—still holding the stone—in a vice-like grip. Too fast for Hermione to protest or resist, Pansy had moved their hands over the altar, forced her hand down, pulled her palm open, and dropped the last stone into its place. 

Hermione whipped her neck around to see her, Pansy’s hand still over hers. Pansy’s face was almost unreadable, though twisted with pain. 

“Why would you—” she tried to gasp, cut off by what felt like a knock to her stomach. Pansy reacted the same, the two of them violently pushed back from the other. Hermione felt her feet heels barely scraping dirt as she was propelled away from the altar, a loud crack resounding through the cave. The light was gone.

-

She was scrambling on the floor. She couldn’t reach her wand and her hands felt numb though she knew she was on the ground from the press of stones against her knees. She felt something warm running down her temple and dripping from her chin, rivulets spilling over her top lip, filling her mouth with the taste of iron. The darkness surrounding her was so absolute that she groped around her for any sense of movement. A strange silence filled her ears, a fullness of dull ringing that made her shake her head to try and clear it away. Finally, she felt something. A ledge. She pulled herself into the hole and began to crawl, elbows scraping against rock as she feverishly pushed through.

When the light hit her, she saw hands reaching into the hole, grasping at her arm, half-dragging her out.

“Hermione? Merlin—” 

It was Ron’s voice, muffled and far away. She let herself be pulled from the hole and propped onto her feet. Hermione blinked against the grey sky, the brightness flooding her vision. His hands were on her upper arms. Was he shaking her? She licked at the dry blood along her lip, nausea rising steadily. Theo’s voice joined the chorus next. He was shouting her name. No, not hers—a different name. 

“Where is she? Hermione? Is she okay?” Ron shook her again and Hermione watched as dread widened his pupils and lifted his brow. She noticed the trees behind him were swaying. The wind caught the leaves and shook the branches, still heavy with moss. Theo was still shouting. Ron still held her. Dirt began to fly up in the air as Theo pointed his wand at where she had crawled from and began to blast away at the tunnel. For a second, Ron let her go and turned. 

The emptiness felt total. It was immense—gaping. Why was she here? Was Theo okay? Should she get help? She had to leave. But she wanted so desperately to give in to the bright pricks that formed on her lids when she closed her eyes, wanted to fall into the dark heaviness that hung off her bones. Ron was calling after her. She turned, and he was running—waving at her to stop. She hadn’t realized she was running too, stumbling away from where they had stood, feet carrying her across the wet grass. A rock in the ground jutted up in front of her and her foot caught it, sending her careening. Before she hit the ground, she spun. The ground and the sky blurred together until she was gone.

Her feet just barely landed on solid ground again. Ron was gone, replaced by thick foliage and the padded underbrush of a dense forest. It reminded her of the Trossachs. Had she been here once? Before the pain could catch her again, she spun. Rain hit her skin and she glanced at the sky before she spun again. And again, and again, and again. Leaves under her feet, then pavement, then grass, then carpet. She couldn’t focus on where she was going, images floating into her head but fading before she could grasp them. She moved to apparate again, but her legs gave from under her and her body folded easily. The rug beneath her cheek was worn and familiar. Her fingers grasped at the faded wool and she heard voices from across the room. Was it her? A soft hand cradled her cheek, pushed her hair gingerly from her forehead, murmured to her as she closed her eyes.


	15. Crush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking of you all, stay safe friends. Hope you enjoy the chapter xx

The gentleness lasted a few more seconds before it was punctuated by muffled shouting that grew closer until it fought with the ringing in her ears. Careful hands gently rolled her onto her back, slipped a pillow under her head, kept her still. There was a flash of tangled blonde, then freshly showered red. Hermione smiled at the presence of her friends. So, she had recognized the feel of the carpet after all. Her lips curled and she squinted up at their faces.

“The rug,” she murmured.

“Oh sweet Merlin. Luna, apply pressure there to the back of her head. That’s it, be firm.” Ginny’s voice hovered above her.

“Hi love, it’s good to see you,” Luna hummed into her ear and Hermione smiled in response. “I’m glad you like the rug. You helped us pick it out, remember?”

“Luna, can you hold her wrists still, just in case?” Ginny again, using a tone Hermione was used to hearing only when she was out on the Quidditch field, marching about and giving orders. 

“It’ll sting for a minute, love, just give us a deep breath.” She felt Luna’s hands close over her wrists, palms warm against her cool skin. She smelt like old parchment and the fresh rosemary from their garden. She focused on the thought of their garden for a moment until she heard her own gasp. Whatever it was, it stung. She sucked in a breath through her teeth as liquid poured down her scalp, across her forearms, her hands.

“You don’t have any more?” Luna whispered.

“This is all I had in my bag. We’re lucky I had any at all,” Ginny replied in hushed tones. “Once she’s stabilized, we’ll call Harry. He always has Dittany in his cabinet. This should at least stem the bleeding enough for now. She’s bloody out of it though, isn’t she?”

“Ginny,” Luna warned, voice low, “she can still hear you, you know.”

“Lunes, look at her pupils. I haven’t seen pupils that dilated since Katie Bell was knocked clean off her broom in fifth year. She was muttering about the damn rug a second ago. Who knows _what’s_ happened to her. She looks like she’s been smashed across the head then splinched to high hell.” Ginny’s voice rose in unsteady waves above her and Hermione grimaced at the noise.

“Gin, go get Harry. I’ll stay with her,” Luna waved off Ginny with her hand, the other still carefully holding a compress against a crush of curls. Hermione was vaguely aware that Luna had started talking to her again, but she couldn’t fight off the longing to close her eyes and give in to the gentle pull of quiet. 

-

“I knew—I just _knew_ something like this was going to happen. I sensed it on the phone…like a foreboding.”

“Oh, cut the dramatics, Draco. Wait—the phone? Hermione called you?”

“She gave me a ring the other day. Don’t be jealous, Gin. It was a personal call.”

“A personal call. To you. From Hermione. What was it about?”

“Ask her yourself when she’s awake. It’s not for me to go spilling her secrets.” 

“Oh please, there’s not a secret between the two of us—"

“Hushed tones, you two, please.” 

The voices of Draco, Ginny, and Luna floated above her, Draco’s sharp tone sparring with Ginny’s quick jabs, broken only by Luna’s quiet reminders. Hermione moved to rub at her eyes but found her arms heavy beside her. She scrunched her fingers against the blanket beneath her hands, noting that the woollen rug had been replaced by stiff and freshly starched sheets. Slowly, she managed to lift her fingers enough to peer down and inspect them. The half-moons of her nails were caked with dirt, and old and darkened blood had dried into the lines of her knuckles. 

“Oh—oh, she’s awake. Hermione, do you know where you are?” Draco’s face came into view, his usually styled hair looked more dishevelled than usual. She gazed at his pointed nose and his coal-blue eyes swam before her. 

“Of course she doesn’t know where she is, she just bloody woke up. Hermione, it’s us.” Ginny’s face replaced Draco’s. Her nose scrunched in concern, long hair falling across her shoulders. “You’re at St. Mungo’s.”

“Hi, Gin,” Hermione managed, voice cracking as she spoke. Ginny exhaled a heavy sigh at hearing her voice as Luna’s hand landed gently on Hermione’s, Draco making a choked noise beside them. 

“Do you know what day it is, Hermione?” Luna asked, clasping her hand in support.

“Monday,” she confirmed. At least she was fairly certain it was still Monday.

“Do you know what happened to you? Can you remember how you hit your head?” Luna gently continued her questioning, Draco and Ginny’s anxious eyes fixed on Hermione.

“I…was with Ron,” Hermione supplied. She remembered Ron gripping her arms, shaking her. He was asking her something. “Theo was there, too,” she added. 

Ginny paled, her freckles standing out against her ashen skin. “Is Ron alright?” she breathed.

“I think so,” Hermione tried, “he was running with me—we were running somewhere. I think we were running here.” She squeezed Luna’s hand to emphasize what she meant. 

“And Pansy?” Luna prompted, “was she running with you?”

Hermione paused. She inhaled, shook her head. Pansy. _Pansy_. The thought of Pansy slammed against her like a wall of stone. The brush of her hair against Hermione’s neck, the sliver-thin scars across her torso, the softness of her skin—pale limbs—against hers, dark eyes searching her face. The memories stuck in her throat and she tried to force down the panic that threatened to blanket her. Where was Pansy? All she could see was darkness, the taste of dust in her mouth, the scrape of rock below her. Instinctively, Hermione tried to reach into the bond. She grasped at nothingness, felt emptiness like a void. 

“Hermione, love? Can you remember Pansy being with you? Where were you?” Luna tried again, her hand still on Hermione’s. Her eyes fell on Luna’s hand. A covered hand—Pansy’s hand. Her grip firm against hers, prying open her palm until the last stone dropped and it was too late to pull it back. 

Hermione jerked her hand away from Luna’s, unable to stomach the touch. Pansy had placed the last stone, had broken the bond. The realization of her absence settled into the pit of her stomach, Pansy’s presence slipping through her fingers until she couldn’t feel anything at all.

-

Pansy spit out dirt from her mouth, the taste of earth coating her tongue. She tried to pull in a deep breath until her ribs protested loudly. The pain started there—in her chest—and radiated towards her shoulders, down her arms, snaking to her lower back. Something had fallen on her, hit her in the soft part of her body where her neck and shoulders met, before landing at her feet. She couldn’t see through the blackness though she could hear heavy breathing and the sound of someone scrambling against rocks. It had to be Hermione. She tried to call out, her throat seizing before any sound could form. Gods, was Hermione alright? Pansy moved slowly as she felt through the dark. Her breathing was becoming irregular fast and she attempted to focused on her training to try and stifle the fear gnawing at her. 

She had to relax and keep low. Hunching her body as comfortably as she could, she lowered herself to the ground and started to slowly edge forward. When her hands found stone, she tried to follow the curve of the wall. She wasn’t confident she’d be able to fit back through the tunnel at this point. She couldn’t lift her hands above her and knew crawling on her stomach was out of the question. As she continued to move, the crunch of wood beneath her palm sent a wave of nausea through her body—she had found her wand. She held it in her hand and thumbed the splintered blackwood. It was like losing a limb, the sudden loss of it sharp in her chest. Clumsily, she shoved it into her pocket and wiped the edges of her eyes with the backs of her hands. The memory that surfaced caught her off guard: her parents, their hands on her shoulder, when she first entered Ollivanders and held her wand. The magic coursing through her, the love of her parents—it was one of the last times she had felt entirely safe. Pansy cleared her head. She’d have time to mourn it later. In the meantime, she refused to entertain the memories that pressed against the backs of her eyelids through the darkness. 

Noises surfaced from one end of the cave, muted but there, nonetheless. Stifled shouting, followed by a shrill blast that bounced off the stones and almost deafened her. Pansy covered her ears with her hands and tried to move as far away from the noise as possible, struggling to get out of the line of fire. She crouched and tucked her head between her knees in an attempt to cover her neck and head. The pain radiating from her ribs crackled with her movements and she winced at the soft crunch she felt when she bent over. But light was trickling in from above and she peered up at the beams of daylight that bounced off the broken rocks. 

Theo was calling her name. She laughed in exhaustion at the sound of his voice and tried to stumble towards it. She landed on her knees again, pushed herself back to her feet, and found the opening Theo was shouting down from. 

“Here,” he yelled, a thin rope ladder falling towards her. She recognized it, knew it was the one he kept in his bag when they were out doing fieldwork. 

“You’re going to have to pull me up,” Pansy shouted back. Her voice sounded garbled and weak, but Theo heard her well enough. Mustering as much strength as she could, she wrapped her arms around the rope and tucked her feet into the bottom rung. Theo’s face disappeared as he drew back, centring himself low to slowly drag the ladder up until Pansy could clamber the rest of the way out.

The feel of grass beneath her was like bliss and she pressed her forehead against the fresh dirt, inhaling the heavy smell of moisture and the sweet and musky scent of nearby thistles. Theo was standing close, his breaths coming in heavy, coupled with the sound of approaching steps. She savoured the brief moment of freedom—pure exhilaration at being above ground—before it was crushed by Ron’s voice. 

“She’s gone,” Ron called, the words sounding strangled in his throat. 

“Gone?” Theo, astounded, turned to face him. Pansy pulled herself into a kneeling position, taking in the sight of Ron. He was pale as a ghost. The wave of relief she felt at hearing Hermione was alive was quickly replaced by an image of Hermione darting away from them all, running without stopping to look back and see if Pansy had made it out as well. It felt like betrayal, sharp and painful in her gut. 

“I couldn’t catch her in time. She tripped, apparated before she landed. Merlin knows where she ended up—she could be anywhere.” Ron worried the edge of his lip, his hands working tight knots around each other. 

“Can you get in contact with Harry? He can put out a call for her,” Theo, paling by the minute himself, quickly suggested. 

“Yeah, yeah, alright, I’ll do that. Will you lot be alright?” Ron already had his wand in his hand, ready to take off.

“Go on, Ron,” Theo nodded grimly as he and Pansy watched Ron spin and disappear out of sight. 

Theo bent beside Pansy, his eyes scanning her hunched posture, the scrapes along her limbs. The silence hung between them for a beat before he spoke. 

“What’s the damage?” he murmured. Pansy hated the worry in his eyes, hated the familiarity of his concern. 

“Ribs,” she sighed, “definitely bruised, probably fractured. A few in the back from the feel of it. My collarbone feels numb but I’m optimistic,” she managed a quiet laugh. “It’s my neck I’m worried about. Listen, T, there’s a nearby medical centre. It’s small, but they’ll be able to see me quickly. I won’t be able to side-along with you more than once, so listen carefully to how I describe it. You’ve got to get me there, okay?” She reached out and gripped his knee, trying to convince him. 

“Pans…” 

She could hear the uncertainty in his voice and pushed on. “I’ve been there before, trust me. It’ll take too long to get back to London.” She watched as his resolve crumbled and he quietly nodded.

“Alright, we’ll go there. Pansy, I have to ask,” he paused, his gaze hard, “the bond. Is it broken?”

“It’s broken,” Pansy responded, the finality of her words rushing over her. She couldn’t think of Hermione right now. She had survived, that much she knew. Survived and somehow managed to pull herself from the cave alive, leaving Pansy behind. Conflicting emotions surged to the surface and Pansy refocused herself by concentrating on the physical pain consuming her body. The guilt at pushing in the last stone, the anger of Hermione leaving her behind, it was too raw and open. She grit her teeth together and let Theo help her to her feet. And where the bond had once filled her, she wordlessly built up a wall. 

-

“Where is she?” Hermione whispered, ignoring Harry’s quick line of questioning. He had only been in the room for a few minutes and already she was growing frustrated with the lack of information he was giving her.

“I—I don’t _know_ , Hermione. Ron just got back, he said she made it out. He left her with Theo, but he’s still waiting to hear where they ended up.” Harry ran his hands through his hair, the sleeves of his robe hanging from his wrists. He had come as soon as he had gotten word, half-mad with anxiety until he found Hermione safely at St. Mungo’s. Hermione and Luna watched him as he paced around the small room. 

“He’s here!” Ginny called out, rushing through the door with an exhausted Ron in tow. Harry sighed in relief as Hermione stared up at his face, taking in the dark rings under his eyes, the shakiness of his hands. He stood in the doorframe for a second before moving towards the bed, his gaze taking in the deep cuts running along her body, fresh skin covering them. 

“Gods, Hermione,” he muttered, grasping the hand she stretched out to him.

“Ron, I’m sorry,” she started, “I…can’t remember why I ran and I—”

“It’s fine, ‘Mione, it’s fine,” he hushed her, patting her hand in an awkward yet soothing manner in a way only Ron could. 

“Where is she, Ron?” Hermione pressed, trying to keep the dread from her voice. She stared at him and felt real fear work its way through her. The light in the room was too bright, and half of Ron’s face was obscured by a bright spot of emptiness. When she blinked, the spots moved, covering part of Luna, some of the room, Ginny’s arm. She tried to refocus on his face, but the blurriness remained. 

“She, um, she’s still in Skye. Theo got a hold of Croaker, apparently he took her to a clinic in the area. She’ll be alright though, I reckon.” Ron attempted to quiet the panic radiating from her, his eyes finding Harry across the room. 

“Can I see her?” Hermione asked, already knowing the answer, needing to ask it anyways.


	16. Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's like feast or famine with chapters around here. I'm happy to have this chapter out though. If anyone is interested, I listened to Johnny Flynn's "Amazon Love" and Moses Sumney's "Doomed" while writing this chapter xx

“Alright, Ms. Granger, let’s try this from another angle. You remember being in the cave, correct?”

Hermione fidgeted under Croaker’s gaze, his downturned smile conveying a measure of sympathy that made her uncomfortable. Ginny had helped prop her up in her hospital bed, and by her fourth day at St. Mungo’s, she was feeling irritable and ready to leave. 

Croaker had convinced Harry to let him come see Hermione and ask her a few questions for his research. Hermione found herself staring at his head of greying curls and the rich trim of his robes. She struggled to focus on his words, finding it hard to meet his searching eyes.

“Yes, I remember,” she replied. Croaker made a noise of understanding and quickly moved on, running through a list of questions she felt she had already answered a hundred times over the past hour. He had wanted to know about the stones, the altar, the ouroboros, the walls, the floor, the temperature, every little factor that Hermione had to struggle to remember. The details were like wisps in her mind, visible one moment and gone another. She could picture the cave—but then she couldn’t. She could see Pansy, holding her palm open, dropping in the stone, but then she was gone. Croaker seemed extremely interested in her inability to hold down her memories, pushing her past where she was comfortable. 

“And what was it that Ms. Parkinson did, Ms. Granger, right before you suffered your injuries? Can you tell me again?” Croaker prodded.

“Unspeakable Croaker,” Ginny cut in from across the room, “with all due respect, don’t you think Hermione has answered enough for today?”

Hermione found Ginny standing across from them, half-hidden behind the privacy curtain. Her arms were crossed, eyes narrowed at the pair of them. She had been standing guard for a few hours now, still in her muddy practice uniform from a day on the field. She had taken over from Luna who had insisted on spending the morning with Hermione, despite her protests that she was fine on her own. 

“Ah, Ms. Weasley, yes, quite right. Perhaps just a few more, hmm?” Croaker pursed his lips in a satisfied smile when Ginny conceded.

“I’m alright, Gin,” Hermione shrugged, hiding the aching headache that had settled between her eyes and sunk down into her neck.

“Excellent, continue then. I want to go back to what happened when you fell, Ms. Granger. Can you walk me through exactly what you felt took place?” Croaker leaned forward in the stiff hospital chair meant for visitors, the seat groaning under his weight. Hermione’s finger dug into the soft nailbed of her thumb as she paused before answering.

“I felt myself getting pushed backwards, I remember feeling like my breath had been knocked from me. And there was silence…I—I couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see anything. It was like I was empty. Ron found me, I think. He says I ran.” Hermione slowly released the air from her lungs, lingering over the remnants of memories that had kept her up the night before.

“Do you remember running, Ms. Granger?” Croaker tilted his head as the quill beside him rushed to pen down his words. Hermione hesitated. 

“No. I don’t know—I don’t think so? Ron was shaking me, and then I was falling,” she finished, noting how his brows creased as she spoke, how he tapped his hand against his knee in impatience. 

“And you had no immediate memory of Ms. Parkinson?”

Hermione flinched at the mention of Pansy’s name before shaking her head. “I don’t see her—in my memory of that moment, that is.”

“She wasn’t there?” Croaker clicked his tongue, confused. “From Mr. Weasley and Mr. Nott’s accounts, she was indeed there.”

“No,” Hermione countered, equally frustrated. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth and she struggled to articulate what happened. “She—she wasn’t here, do you understand?” Hermione gestured towards herself, wanting Croaker to realize what she meant. “I couldn’t feel her, it’s like she was erased from my mind.”

“Very interesting, Ms. Granger, very interesting indeed.” Croaker watched her for a moment, curiosity etched across his face. “Do you think it possible, Ms. Granger, that in the breaking of the bond, the subsequent violence knocked the knowledge of Ms. Parkinson from your memory?” 

Ginny let out a soft snort of disbelief from her corner and both Hermione and Croaker bent their heads in surprise. 

“Ms. Weasley? Did you have something to add?” Croaker pressed, his tolerance for Ginny’s presence wearing thin.

“Again, no disrespect intended, Unspeakable Croaker, but don’t you think it’s more likely the concussion she suffered just resulted in a bit of memory loss? I mean, hear me out, I’ve had girls on the field forget their own names for a few minutes after taking a quaffle to the head.” Ginny spread her hands in explanation, shooting Hermione a half-apologetic look. 

“Perhaps, Ms. Weasley,” Croaker sighed and straightened his robes, “or perhaps not. Though I’m afraid this goes beyond a mere Quidditch injury, you see. The way Ms. Granger has reacted to the end of the curse is different from how it affected Ms. Parkinson. Something our department deems worth studying, I’m sure you can imagine.”

“You’ve talked to Pansy?” Hermione felt the familiar lurch in her stomach as she sat forward in bed. 

“Ah, yes,” Croaker cleared his throat, seemingly uncomfortable for the first time that afternoon. He could see Ginny shaking her head in warning from behind Hermione. “I saw her yesterday, albeit briefly. She’s recovering. Well, if that’s all, Ms. Granger, I think I’ll—”

“Wait,” Hermione put out her hand when Croaker stood to leave, “is she okay? Is she still in Skye?”

“She was transferred home safely last night, resting just fine. I’m sure you’ll have the opportunity to…ah…discuss with her what took place, in the future. It would be fascinating to study both your magical cores once you’re both up to it. Anyhow, I won’t keep you both any longer. Till next time, Ms. Granger, Ms. Weasley.” Croaker dipped his head and turned on his heel, robes swirling behind him, his quill zipping through the air to keep pace. 

Hermione turned to Ginny in disbelief. “Did you know, Gin? That she was back in London?” 

“Er, Harry told me this morning—but you dozed most of the day, ‘Mione. I didn’t think it was a ‘need-to-know’ thing,” Ginny quickly defended herself, diverting Hermione’s questions away from her.

“Well, when can I see her? What did the Healer say about when I’m able to leave?” Hermione sighed in exasperation, baffled by Ginny’s sudden evasiveness. 

“You know,” Ginny paused, eyes darting up as she tried to think of a better excuse, “the thing is, she actually asked to not see you.”

“The Healer?” Bewildered, Hermione glanced towards the door of her room.

“Er, no, Pansy did,” Ginny replied, her voice low.

“Pansy asked…to _not_ see me.” Hermione let the words sink in for a moment, almost in disbelief. 

“Right,” Ginny filled in, looking as if she regretted the words the minute they left her mouth. “I mean, maybe. Draco told me, but you know how he is, maybe the message got skewed in the telling.”

“Oh, okay. Well.” Hermione cleared her throat, made a show of arranging her blanket around her legs, refusing to look up. Ginny moved towards her and gently pushed Hermione over until the two of them fit on the bed. She let her arm fall around Hermione’s shoulders and pulled her close, her hand carefully lowering Hermione’s head down until it cradled against her neck. Hermione recognized the move as one Molly had done for her for years, a comforting embrace that took the place of knowing what to say.

“She’s had a rough go, ‘Mione. Give her a few days, she just needs some space.” Ginny clucked her tongue in a way further reminiscent of Molly and Hermione managed a stiff nod. 

-

The light in her room had faded until only a dull grey shone through the windows as Hermione quietly folded the worn hospital blanket and left it on the foot of the bed. It felt good to be back in her own clothes, the gown given to her neatly placed next to the blanket. Ginny had left an hour earlier with promises to return the next morning and—if the Healers agreed to it—take her home. She knew that most of the Healers would have left for the day and the halls would be quiet. Slipping the overnight bag Luna had brought her over her shoulder, she listened for footsteps before proceeding down the dimmed hallways of St. Mungo’s.

She had already been warned she shouldn’t risk trying to apparate until her splinching scars had fully healed over, just in case. It had been years since she last hailed a taxi but she found one easily enough, falling into a comfortable chatter with the driver about the weather London was having, how Chelsea was doing verses Arsenal (she had no idea), the unusual traffic-free evening they were enjoying. Hermione was thankful she remembered Pansy’s address and grateful the driver seemed to know the area so she didn’t have to stumble through a bad explanation of how to get there. Staring out the window speckled with rain, anticipation mixed with anxiety settled over her. 

By the time the car pulled onto Pansy’s street, the sky was fully dark except for the orange glow of the streetlights. 

“Here’s fine,” Hermione called, handing the driver enough pounds to cover the cost of the long trip. As she shut the car door behind her, she took in the sight of Pansy’s doorstep. A few candles were visible through a curtained window. Hermione tried to swallow but her throat had gone dry. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. But before she could turn back, her feet were carrying her towards the doorstep.

-

Pansy jerked upright at the sound of a knock against her door. She groaned against her sudden movement, the icepacks laying against her chest clanging to the floor. Had Draco somehow locked himself out of her floo? Merlin knows her neighbours wouldn’t be coming around. Tentatively, she moved towards her door, irritated at having to leave the haven of the sofa. 

“Draco, I don’t know why this keeps happening to you, but I—oh,” Pansy paused, her hand still on the edge of the door.

“Pansy, I’m sorry for just showing up, but…can I come in?” 

Pansy stared down at the sight of Hermione, momentarily stunned at seeing her, alarmed at the ugly red gashes peeking out from under her sleeves, the sunken look of her eyes. She nodded, opening the door wide enough for her to come in.

The two of them stood in uncomfortable silence in Pansy’s front hall for a beat until Pansy jutted her chin towards the armchair in her sitting room. It was the same one Hermione had been curled up on only weeks before, book in hand, bare legs slung easily over the side. Pansy felt her throat tighten and she sucked in a deep breath, letting the pain radiating from her ribs centre her. Physical pain had always had that effect on her. It brought her back to the present, gave her sharp clarity. It distracted her from the fact that the Hermione in front of her now seemed like a different woman, more shadow than witch. 

“I—I heard from Ron that you were injured. I wanted to see if you were alright.” Hermione spoke looking down at her hands, her voice heavy with exhaustion, as if it had taken all her courage just to get through the door.

“I’m fine, Granger.” Pansy struggled to keep her emotions under control, hated herself for it. 

“You, um, asked not to see me?” Hermione whispered, looking up this time when she spoke. She searched Pansy’s face until she found her gaze. She sounded small, defeated, but Pansy thought she could still sense familiar determination behind her voice. Pansy watched as tears spread across her lashes, slipping down before Hermione had the chance to brush them away in frustration.

“Hermione,” she sighed, her whole body protesting with every movement. It was bittersweet seeing her again, and the days that passed since they broke the bond felt like they had stretched on forever. Going against her better judgement, Pansy stood. Hermione watched her with confusion as she walked over, and Pansy hissed in pain as she lowered herself onto her knees in front of where Hermione sat. 

“Are you alright?” she murmured, her hands resting against Hermione’s face, cradling her chin in her hands. Hermione’s hands moved to cover Pansy’s and she nodded, tears falling until they slipped into Pansy’s palms. She gave into the longing, the deep and buried pain that surfaced when she held her close again. She kissed the bridge of Hermione’s nose, the tear-stained tops of her cheeks, the bow of her upper lip, above each brow. It felt achingly right, stifling the gaping hole that had opened in her chest days before. She wanted to keep her close until things felt right again, but Pansy knew she couldn’t keep her. Not after everything that had happened, not now that they were back in reality. The bond had been a mistake, nothing more than a curse, and now things had righted themselves. It felt foolish—selfish even—to hold her, but she needed to give herself this, just one last time. 

She inhaled slowly before removing her hands. Pulling herself back hurt more than she expected, but the absence of the bond was too large a gulf between them, one that Pansy felt she couldn’t cross. Hermione’s hands dropped to her lap as Pansy leaned back on her heels. 

“I’m glad, Hermione. But I think you should go.” She steadied herself against the startled look that flashed across Hermione’s eyes, the drop of her bottom lip in confusion.

“Pansy, please, we have to talk about what happened. We have to—” Hermione tried to reach out to grasp Pansy’s hand, but Pansy had already stood, putting distance between them again. 

“No, Hermione listen, not now,” Pansy pushed back, too tired to try and explain herself, already feeling drained. She could barely hear her own thoughts above the heaviness of her heart, the heaviness of her body. 

“No, _you_ listen,” Hermione countered, “we have to talk, damn it. About…about what _happened_.” Hermione was on her feet now, hands clenched into loose fists by her side. Pansy recognized this stance, knew Hermione was ready to fight her way to the end.

“Hermione, please, enough,” Pansy groaned, trying to stop her before it got out of hand. “We did what we set out to do. We ended the bond, you ran, we made our decision.” Pansy instinctively took a step back at the look on Hermione’s face, equal parts pain and frustration. 

“Hold on—that’s not fair. _You_ broke the bond. I—I tried to stop you, I wanted to…wait,” Hermione’s brows furrowed and she shot Pansy a look that momentarily made her breathless, “did you say I _ran_?”

Pansy to tried to press the heel of her palms into her eyes but grit her teeth against the sharp pain of moving her arms too quickly. “Yes, Granger, you ran. Merlin, Croaker warned me you had some memory issues, but really?”

“I—I didn’t _run_ , Pansy, not like that. Do you think I left you in there on purpose?” Hermione’s tone climbed until her voice filled the room.

“I don’t know, Hermione, did you? I’ve been left behind before, I won’t let it happen again.” Pansy was done. She was tired, hungry, and the healing potion Draco gave her earlier that morning had worn off hours ago. She knew she was lashing out, being reckless, but she couldn’t stop herself. She felt like the part of her that had latched onto Hermione before was untethered and she was falling faster than she could stop. 

“I’m sorry—what exactly are you getting at? What’re you _talking_ about?” Hermione’s hands were in the air, the gashes on her arms visible. Pansy swallowed, feeling guilt at the sight of them. 

“I’ve been on my own most of my life, alright? My own father left me, I know what it is to be left behind,” Pansy spat. Somewhere, in the part of her mind that was still hanging onto any semblance of sanity, she knew Hermione couldn’t have known, knew it wasn’t her fault. But instead it was her inner child that spoke, the angry sixteen-year-old who felt abandoned by her friends, offered up for slaughter by her own father, and then left behind by the only woman she might have loved. The pain and the anger were crushing and Pansy was suffocated the memories.

“Pansy, Merlin, back up. That’s…gods…I’m sorry.” Hermione was caught off guard, losing her words for a moment. “I’m sorry, Pansy, really. I didn’t know. You didn’t deserve whatever happened to you, and I’m sorry felt alone. But why’re you telling me this _now_? I want to continue this conversation, but Pansy, I can’t be responsible for what happened to you, or your traumas, alright? I have enough baggage in my life I’m dealing with, I won’t take on yours. And you—you can’t just _throw_ this at me as some form of blame. I didn’t leave you behind, okay? I’m not your father, for Merlin’s sake. I was out of my mind, I didn’t know where I was, I…and you…you asked not to see me? Had Draco relay the message to Ginny? All I’ve wanted was to be there for you.” Hermione seemed torn between sympathy and being utterly distraught, her hands waving as she paced, her thoughts racing.

“Hermione, please,” Pansy felt like she was begging, desperate for silence, desperate to feel like she was on solid ground again.

“No, Pansy, you listen to me, you _stubborn_ git. All I’ve done sitting in that hospital bed is miss you. And now you’re taking yourself away from me, you’re _punishing_ me for what happened. It’s—it’s fucked up, alright?” Hermione waited, as if she hoped Pansy would interrupt her, tell her that this would all go away. But Pansy couldn’t bring herself to open her mouth, to either defend herself or correct her. She watched as Hermione’s face turned from anger to defeat. She didn’t know what she felt anymore, didn’t know what she thought. 

“I shouldn’t have come,” Hermione murmured. Her face was twisted with regret and she looked small where she stood. Pansy could only manage to shake her head, unsure if she was agreeing with her or not. Hermione turned, already at Pansy’s front door. She didn’t turn back when she opened it. She slipped out soundlessly, back into the darkness. Pansy bit the inside of her cheek, wishing she could stop her, feeling like this was final. 

-

The whoosh of the floo alerted Pansy to Theo’s presence. He quietly moved through her home, finding her slumped back on the sofa, melting icepacks dripping onto the floor.

“Hey, Pans. How’re you holding up?” He flicked his wand with one hand and the icepacks refroze, a package carried in his arm. “I brought dinner. I know you said you weren’t hungry earlier, but you really need to eat something. Draco gave me another speech about giving you healing potions on an empty stomach, and of course I—Pansy?” Theo lowered the package and sat on the edge of the sofa, peering at her through the low light.

“I’m an idiot, Theo. An absolute prick,” Pansy laughed, frustrated tears caught behind her lids, refusing to fall. 

“I wouldn’t say a prick, maybe a pill,” Theo joked, affording her an easy grin and a light squeeze on her ankle. “What’s this about?”

“Hermione dropped by.” Pansy picked at the plastic corner of the icepack, already feeling Theo stiffen at her words. He pushed aside his dark blonde fringe, ran his fingers through it before speaking. 

“Well, that was unexpected. She’s out of St. Mungo’s already?” Theo, confused, looked around Pansy’s flat. “How’d she get here, anyways?”

“I don’t know, T. Not through the floo, she came through the front door. Alone. She wanted to talk. Unsurprisingly, I bungled the whole thing. She was just so—earnest? And fragile. I don’t know how they released her early. Or how she knew I’d be home,” Pansy added, wondering if Theo had an idea.

“And you’re still angry at her?” Theo asked, hand still on Pansy’s ankle. He was speaking in those soothing tones he used when she was in one of her moods and she suppressed the urge to swat away his hand.

“No, not anymore. She looked as if I could blow her over with a first-year charm. It’s like she came here expecting…what, that things would be just as they were?” Pansy tried to sit herself up to better face Theo, huffing as she spoke.

Theo handed her a pillow and helped her arrange it behind her back, keeping his voice light. “And you…don’t think that’s possible?”

Pansy almost rolled her eyes. “T, be serious. I feel like I haven’t been able to take a proper breath in weeks since this whole disaster started. I haven’t been working, I haven’t been living my life. I need…space. I don’t know. I think what happened proves this was all a mistake. A curse. You know, that madman in Skye had me thinking for a while there was some bigger meaning behind this, but I was wrong.” 

“Hm,” Theo nodded, making a noncommittal noise that Pansy knew meant he was either deep in thought or disagreed with her. 

“And T?” she gathered a breath, tentative.

“Yeah?” Theo pressed.

“I brought up my dad,” she finished, feeling awkward at having mentioned it.

“Oh, that’s…surprising, I guess,” Theo struggled to find a proper response, knowing he was treading on sensitive territory. 

“I know, it just sort of burst out of me,” Pansy shrugged.

“Why do you think you brought it up? Have you talked with Hermione about your parents before?” Theo urged.

“Not really. I found her looking at their photo when she first came over. It just never really came up. I’m almost positive she knows about dad’s history; he wasn’t exactly subtle about it. And I just—I don’t know. I found it odd she never asked me about my scars. I know she saw them. You know, for someone who wants to know _everything_ , I wondered why she didn’t bring them up at some point.” Pansy felt like she was talking circles around herself, not sure who she was trying to convince.

“Don’t you think she knew it was likely a personal thing you’d bring up when you were ready?” Theo exhaled in sympathy and quietly moved a few icepacks out of the way and onto the table. “By the way, twenty minutes on, forty minutes off. You’re going to freeze your skin off.”

“Seriously, T, when has she ever respected boundaries?” Pansy ignored his chiding and pushed on.

“Pansy,” Theo sighed. Pansy nodded, knowing Theo understood. She smiled half-heartedly up at him. Afterall, he had been the one there for her years ago. She wondered if he thought about those days as much as she did. She couldn’t remember the last time they talked about it. Mostly, she was good at suppressing the memories. But sometimes they slipped from the cracks of her past and spread over her, reminding her of things she tried her hardest to forget: _She was in sixth year again, home for Christmas break. Her father asked her to accompany him to a meeting. She didn’t want to go, but it was less of a request and more of an order. He had been acting stranger and stranger over the past few years. If she was honest with herself, she had grown to fear him. She was taken with him to the Malfoy’s. There, a group of Death Eaters met her. If she couldn’t be useful to them, who could? They questioned her about her friends and other female students at Hogwarts. Who was easier to target? Who could be manipulated, cursed? She refused, humiliating her father in front of his equals. As punishment, he left her behind, left her to the whims of a small group of sick followers. She could feel their magic tearing into her skin when she continually refused to speak, stripping thin scars across her torso, marking her. Theo had found there, himself at the Manor with his father. He took her away, hid her in his room while he nursed her injuries until it was safe to return to Hogwarts where she knew he couldn’t come for her again. She felt weak, abandoned, and alone in the world except for T._

“Hey, Pans, stay with me here,” Theo murmured. “I’d hug you if I didn’t think it would make things worse. Maybe we should talk about what happened more, it could do us some good.”

“Yeah, maybe, T,” Pansy squeezed the top of his knee and tried to gather herself. But she was that little girl again, left on her own, wondering what she had done to bring this on herself.


	17. Shells

Hermione could hear her pulse in her ears, a thrumming that lessened the further she walked from Pansy’s door. The streets of Hampstead were quiet in comparison, the pavement still soaked from the early evening rain. She pulled her coat closer and stared past the weathered chimneys that poked above the alleyway walls. They crawled with ivy—vines hanging over brick interspersed with graffiti. She hadn’t been in the area for years, but she knew it well enough to find her way towards West Hampstead station. If she could just get on the Central line, she could get near enough to home. 

Her legs were tired, her arms itched from the feel of new skin being pulled together, and her head felt like it was submerged in the Great Lake. She really shouldn’t have gone. She could practically hear Ginny’s voice in her head, lots of ‘didn’t I tell you?’ and ‘what were you thinking?’ But she preferred that to the silence in her head when she pictured Pansy—standing there in her dim home, dark circles rimming her eyes, unable to speak when Hermione had told her she had _missed her_. Well, she was able to speak when it suited her—when she wanted to hurl an accusation at her, or tell her to leave, or blurt out some past childhood trauma. Hermione grit her teeth, willing the image away. But when she blinked, there she was. Pansy had looked like she had been crumpled against the floor and propped back up. Hermione had noticed how she winced when she walked and the icepacks on the floor. They both seemed broken, somehow lesser in the wake of the bond. Like the curse had sent them spinning into the air and the moment it broke, they struggled under their own weight. 

The doors of the train opening jolted her out of her thoughts and she boarded quickly, finding an empty seat. Feeling the dense wool nylon of the seat itching against her back, she sighed and leaned her head back, trying to keep her mind as blank as possible.

-

Hermione felt like she was dead on her feet, the last half-hour walk home from the station almost doing her in. But the lights were on at Ginny and Luna’s. She knew they would be, but she smiled at the sight of them, nonetheless. The door pushed open as she entered, careful to avoid the collection of shells near the entrance. She could hear the faint static of the radio and the smell of lemon and vanilla coming from the kitchen. 

“…and the Healers were saying she can come home, but they want us to supervise her for a few days at least, see how she’s doing in terms of recovery. Of course, that would be easier if she actually stayed—"

“Hi,” Hermione cut in, easing her way from the hallway into the kitchen. Ginny was standing with her back to her, arms crossed, while Luna levitated a freshly baked pound cake from the oven to the counter.

“Merlin—” Ginny spun around as Luna dropped the cake onto a cooling rack.

“I, er, decided to check out early. Hope you both don’t mind.” Hermione dropped her bag to the floor and sighed in relief when Luna gathered her into a hug. Hermione closed her eyes and let her chin drop to Luna’s shoulder. Hugging Luna always reminded her of hugging her mum. With her eyes shut, she could have been back in her childhood home, her mum holding her tightly when she returned for the summer. 

She heard Ginny reluctantly shuffle over and wrap her arms around the pair of them. “I wish you’d listen,” Ginny murmured into her hair, “but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Tea,” Luna announced when they finally pulled away, directing a knife over her shoulder that whizzed past them and neatly cut the cooling cake into even slices. While Luna reached for three mismatched mugs, Ginny steered Hermione into their sitting room and sat beside her on one of their large and overstuffed sofas. 

“Here.” She draped a large quilt around Hermione’s shoulders and tucked in the edges until Hermione was sufficiently cocooned.

“Thanks, Molly,” Hermione teased as she settled down.

“Don’t push it,” Ginny laughed and pulled another blanket down for herself, “but I’ll take the compliment.”

Gratefully, Hermione accepted the mug of steaming ginger tea Luna handed her, enjoying the feeling of the heat almost burning her palms. Luna sat herself down on the rug in front of them, stacking pillows around herself.

“So,” Ginny gently prodded as she settled beside her, “is it safe to assume you found Pansy?” She waited for Hermione’s nod before continuing. “And it went…poorly, judging from your current state.” 

Luna shot Ginny a quick disapproving glare before reaching for her own mug. It was almost too big for her hands, the logo of _The Quibbler_ stamped across it, the black ink scrawling out the words as the mug heated.

Hermione sucked in a deep breath before confirming Ginny’s suspicions. “She didn’t want to listen me. I don’t know if she was angry, I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel her.” Hermione shook her head, trying to clear away the fog. “She was closed off, just totally closed off. But when I first got there, I think I caught her by surprise…like she couldn’t quite get the wall up quick enough, you know? But then it was over. She said some things I just…where do you even go from there?”

Luna sighed in sympathy and Ginny shifted beside her. “Hermione,” Ginny tried, “I think Pansy needs time to process what happened. Anything she said that hurt you, know that you didn’t deserve that. But, y’know, hurt people…hurt…people. Er, at least you say something like that, right Lunes?”

“Something like that,” Luna smiled, her eyes crinkling in response.

“I know,” Hermione pulled the quilt tighter and set her tea down in front of her. “Some part of me just felt like I had to find her, like if I saw her, it would all be fine. I thought she’d feel that too. Some lingering part of the bond I guess,” she laughed, the sound catching in her throat.

“It wasn’t wrong for you to hope, Hermione,” Luna murmured. Hermione felt the words carefully crush the last bit of her resolve and she stared at her hands, Luna’s gentle words affirming what she knew all along. 

“What now, then?” she breathed, feeling Ginny’s hand on her knee, Luna’s empathic gaze on her face. 

“You go forward,” Luna added, her voice soft. “You don’t have to have the answers right now. But you give yourself time to heal, both emotionally and physically. You can hold hope for Pansy, if that’s what you want. Or you can hold the memories you have and go on with your life, still fully whole and loved. Whole all on your own, loved by all of us.” 

Hermione leaned into Ginny and let her hold her for the second time that night. She nodded, sniffled, rubbed at her nose. Luna’s words both soothed her and made her ache, the reality of getting on with life without Pansy looming above her. She knew Luna was right—she’d be okay regardless. She’d pick herself up, keep working, keep researching, keep showing up for Wednesday family dinners. Life would go on with or without Pansy. 

-

“Alright, again!” Draco lifted his glass and banged it back against the wooden table, his drink sloshing over the sides. Theo groaned but lifted his glass anyways, never one to be outdone. Pansy laughed before reaching tenderly towards her ribs, caught between crying from the ridiculousness of it all and the pain.

Draco sucked in a deep breath of air before launching into the next verse: “ _So teach us things worth knowing, bring back what we’ve forgot! Just do your best, we’ll do the rest…_ ”

“ _And learn until our brains all rot!_ ” Theo and Pansy joined, emptying their glasses and clanging them on the table.

“What in the—oh, dear _Merlin_ —” 

The trio blinked against the sudden light in the room as Harry cracked open the door to Draco’s study. The stream of daylight split the room in two, illuminating the floating particles in the air and the figures of Theo, Pansy, and Draco hunched over Draco’s desk-turned-table. 

“Draco? It’s noon on a bloody Thursday, what in the—Theo? _Pansy?_ ” Harry stared at the three of them incredulously. He was still in his work robes, a coffee in one hand and papers in the other.

“Harry, love, hello!” Draco gestured towards Harry, accidentally knocking over his glass as he waved. Pansy tried to stifle her snort and hide herself from Harry’s withering glance.

“Yes, hello indeed,” Harry sighed as he stepped into the study and flicked on the lights. Over their loud protests, he conceded and dimmed them to a reasonable glow and shut the door behind him. Draco’s study had been transformed from its usual meticulous home office to a last-minute drinking hole, all his stacked documents and papers cleared from the desk, replaced instead with a few hearty steins and copious bottles of half-finished Firewhisky and Butterbeer. The dark, richly coloured curtains had been pulled tight and blocked out the noon sun, and only candles now flickering at a slightly brighter rate, thanks to Harry, lit the space.

“It smells like the Hog’s Head in here,” Harry muttered, pushing his hair from his face and wrinkling his nose. 

“Cheers, mate,” Theo tilted his head towards Harry and erupted into a fit of giggles.

“How in hell did you lot end up in here? Draco, I saw you leave for work this morning. Pansy, you’re supposed to be home recovering. And Theo—what’s your excuse?” Harry dropped his papers onto a nearby shelf and motioned for Theo to move over. He dragged the extra chair in the room over to the table and sat across from Draco and Pansy.

“Can’t a few mates gather on a Thursday afternoon for a few drinks?” Draco scoffed as he watched Harry settle in. 

“Sure, love, didn’t say they couldn’t.” Harry kept his voice light but Draco sighed and waved towards Pansy and Theo.

“Well, if you must know, I was at work,” Draco started, trying to keep a straight face, “but then Pansy owl’d me, and Theo came ‘round for a chat. About Pansy, incidentally. She’s in a bad way, you see,” he nodded towards Pansy, as if her mere presence was enough of an explanation. 

Pansy more or less agreed with Draco. She still felt like utter shit. Her whole body continually felt like it was in a vice. After Theo had left the night before, the Healer sent to check in on her had told her that the Skele-gro and other potions seemed to be barely working. The Healer had hissed under her breath about cursed magic slowing down their ability to heal her, patting her on the knee and telling her to ‘be patient,’ and that she’d had to perhaps ‘heal the old-fashioned way.’

“In a bad way?” Harry asked, watching Pansy carefully.

“Not feeling great, you can imagine,” Pansy shrugged and tried to keep her tone casual. 

“And that’s it, then?” Harry hummed and surveyed the scene. “You’re still recovering and figured a few drinks would do the trick?” 

Pansy’s gaze darted between Draco and Theo, wondering which of them would give up the goods first.

“Absolutely, Harry. And…well…Pansy buggered it up,” Theo added, the whisky loosening his tongue as he ignored Pansy’s warning and half-hearted shove to his ribs.

“Buggered what up?” Harry conceded as he settled in, though he shook his head when Theo pushed a stein towards him. “No thanks, mate, I still have to get back to work today, unlike you lot, apparently.”

“Hermione, of course,” Draco sniffed, sending Harry a look as if he should have been following along. 

Harry groaned and finally dragged over the full mug. “Oh gods, Pansy. What happened?”

“Stupid,” Pansy shrugged and cradled her head in her hand, “just stupid.” She waited as Draco quickly filled Harry in on what had happened, surprisingly articulate while still sipping his now-refilled glass of Firewhisky. Grief hung heavy over her as Draco relayed her words from the evening before, cringing when he mentioned her outburst about her dad, bowing her head when he detailed what she had said to Hermione before she left. 

“Sounds like a mess.” Harry leaned back in his chair and shook his head.

“This,” Draco swept his arm ceremoniously, “is where you come in to fix it.”

“Me?” Harry laughed and took a long swig of his Butterbeer. “I thought that was why you were all here?”

“Oh, no no, not us,” Draco snorted in indignation, “we’re here simply to commiserate. A friend in need, etcetera. Your role is the fixer.”

“Well it’s not getting fixed today,” Harry chuckled, “certainly not in the state you’re all in.” He squeezed Draco’s arm gently as he stood. “But time, Pansy. I think time. Maybe an apology of sorts.” His tone softened and Pansy clenched her jaw to keep herself together, her teeth gritting against each other to push down the gulf of emotion that lingered close to the surface. “And…about your father. You really should talk to someone about it. I know there wasn’t much…recourse for you after the war. You too, Theo. Time can heal a lot, but not everything. We’ve all had to do some work to move past it all, and you deserve that ability too. Surprisingly, I care about you lot. You’re more than just Draco’s mates, you’ve become part of our family these past years. Pansy, the past few months have uprooted you in ways you couldn’t have expected. And look,” Harry ran a hand through his hair and carefully weighed his next words, “I know there isn’t a timeline on healing, I’m not exactly great at it either. But what’s happened with you and Hermione, maybe this is your chance to mend some of what was taken from you.” Harry had a hand on Draco’s shoulder and reached out towards Pansy, gently gripping hers as well. 

“Thanks, Harry, yeah,” Pansy murmured, overwhelmed.

Harry was right, Pansy knew it. She knew there were things, dark things, buried within her that she had refused to examine. She left them so long that they surfaced in the moments she no longer had control. And she had seen Draco go through the same thing, years ago. She saw him linger in pain until he got help, until he reached out to those who could assist him, and finally healed himself and made reparations in ways she hadn’t been able to. She had watched from the sidelines as he found Harry and the two of them healed in their own ways, both separately and together. She wanted that—desperately, she wanted that. But the work looked painful and above all she had protected herself these past years. She was always on the edge, her work and her pain keeping her from tilting from one side or the other. But she was tired now, and she wanted that wholeness, that peace. 

“And we’ll be here for you,” Draco announced. Firewhisky forgotten, he grabbed Pansy’s hand and held it lightly between his own. Theo cleared his throat and patted her on the shoulder as well.

“It’ll be hard, but we’ve got you,” Theo agreed. Pansy could do nothing but nod, equal parts grateful and guilty. Grateful for her friends, for their love, and guilty for just about everything else.


	18. Loss

Hermione stared at the notes in front of her. She flipped through them, shuffled them around, rearranged them over and over. Beside the papers, her fingers quietly ran over the grooves of her kitchen table. The feel of worn wood against her skin was grounding, a reminder she was safe, that she was home. That morning, she had thrown open her windows as wide as they’d go, letting the damp air fill each room. The cold set her teeth on edge but the chill kept her awake, the heavy autumn air on the cusp of winter clinging to the fabric of her curtains. Luna had been out the day before planting the tulip bulbs in the gardens that separated their homes and the earth outside the window looked loose and dark with fresh soil. Neville had come by to help. He waved, called her over, and showed her their collection of bulbs, pointed towards the differences between what would become the single early tulips, the heavy-petalled parrot tulips, the grape hyacinths. Hermione nodded and asked a few questions and accepted Neville’s hearty hug and his gruffly whispered ‘glad you’re okay’ before excusing herself back inside.

It had been a week now since she’d been home. Despite Ginny and Luna offering up their home for her to stay with them for as long as she needed, she felt the itch to be back in her own space. She convinced them to allow her to leave after promising to let them check in on her regularly, which wasn’t exactly a struggle as neighbours. And after a few days of watching them together, a small part of her had to admit she wanted a bit of distance. Not due to self-pity, she’d remind herself, but maybe so she could stew in her own dejection just a little longer. Plus, she had work to do. All the research she had done on magical objects had sat collecting dust while the bond had taken over her life. But as she looked over her old notes and the outlines and chapters she had sketched up, she found her mind wandering. She’d stare at them before standing up, walking around her kitchen for a few minutes, putting the tea on. On more than one occasion she’d forget altogether the kettle had been on the first place.

It was the evenings that were the hardest. She knew any number of her friends would host her in a heartbeat, but she couldn’t pull herself together to ask. More than anything, Hermione didn’t want to answer any of their questions. The light hurt her head, reading hurt her head, and she continually read the same line of her research over and over again until it was meaningless. 

Feeling like her mind was elsewhere, she almost missed the sight of a small grey owl swooping towards her window ledge, its wings folding carefully as it waited for her to catch the window latch. An unassuming letter was clutched between its black beak and it chirped softly as she gently pulled it down. Her name was inked across the front in long and abrupt font.

“Just hold on,” she muttered as she slid open the letter and pulled out a note, her eyes scanning the short message: _Dear Ms. Granger, I do hope you’ll join me for a short fire-call in just a few moments in your living room. Best, Unspeakable Croaker._

Hermione glanced up in alarm. A few moments? She turned abruptly towards the owl who hooted in return before ducking its head and taking back off across the yard. The sound of an incoming call filled her sitting room and she darted out of her kitchen in time to catch Croaker’s face peering through her wood fireplace. 

“Ms. Granger! So glad you could take my call, you’re looking well,” Croaker grinned.

“Er, yes, thank you,” Hermione, bewildered, folded her arms across her chest. She silently hoped Croaker couldn’t see the jam stain on her old Holyhead Harpies jumper. Ginny had given it to her as a Christmas gift years earlier, and it was perfectly stretched and worn in. 

“Truly, Ms. Granger, it’s good to see you at home. I don’t want to, ah, mince my words here, so I suppose I should simply ask. Are you feeling ready to come in yet for testing, Ms. Granger?” Croaker’s face shifted in the embers as he tilted his head, his brows furrowed in waiting. 

Hermione felt her blood run cold. She stared at the image of Croaker, his bushy hair fanned out in the form of ashes, and struggled to find her words. She started, paused, and tried again. “I’m—sorry, wait…testing?”

Croaker nodded in sympathy and continued. “Ah, yes, a few tests. I do hope this isn’t catching you too off guard. This perhaps isn’t the most sensitive of ways to broach this, but as you can imagine, the Department of Mysteries is most interested in collecting data on the remnants of the bond that inflicted you and Ms. Parkinson.”

Hermione held her breath for a beat before exhaling through her nose. She felt like a child—Croaker in her fireplace, her in her joggers standing barefoot in front of him. How did he get access to her floo anyways? She mentally made a note to talk to Harry about this afterwards.

“Unspeakable Croaker, I don’t—can I have a few days to think about it? Or is it possible your department could just run these tests on Pansy?” Hermione grasped for an out, the thought of spending hours or even days at the Ministry while undergoing mysterious tests the last thing she wanted. 

Croaker’s lips pursed in a moment of disagreement and he shook his head, sending little sparks flying from the tip of his nose. “Unfortunately, we do need both of you for this. Both of your magical cores, we expect, will prove most enlightening.” 

Hermione grimaced, hoping it looked more like a nod of interest. “And you’ve asked Pansy about this? What was her response?”

“She, ah, said to defer to your choice on this matter,” he supplied, doing a poor job of hiding his distaste with Pansy’s response. Momentarily, Hermione marvelled at the notion of Pansy not immediately bowing to the desires of her department head. 

“She did?” she mumbled, mildly embarrassed when she said it aloud. 

“Yes, Ms. Granger, she did. She was quite clear that I get your express permission and cooperation first.” Croaker was almost bristling now. Hermione attempted to ignore the bubble of surprise in her chest and tried her best to look like she was considering Croaker’s request. 

“You know,” Croaker continued, “Mr. Potter mentioned he thought this research was highly important to the department.” His pert smile held as he spoke, though Hermione caught his intentions instantly. It wasn’t the first time Harry’s importance and their close friendship had been used as leverage at the Ministry. Never by Harry himself, thankfully, but those around him seemed perfectly fine with doing so. The surprise she felt turned sour and she instinctively took a step back.

“Well, I’ll be sure to discuss this with Harry first then, if you don’t mind,” she asserted.

“Yes, fine, Ms. Granger. I hope to hear from you soon then.” While his tone was ever professional, Hermione caught the way his face twitched before it disappeared from her fireplace. 

She stood for another moment in silence as the ashes fell back to their resting place in the hearth. Annoyed at Croaker’s intrusion into her home, she turned on her heel and began pulling on the nearest coat she could find, bent on finding Harry.  
-

Pansy gasped and swayed on her feet. She did her best to hold herself up, painfully aware that her colleagues were staring at her intently—some with downturned eyes, others with open curiosity. She found Theo in the lineup amongst the small group and held his gaze.

“Again, I think.” Croaker was standing to the side of the group, arms tucked into the long folds of his robe. 

Pansy braced herself as the Unspeakables lifted their wands and ran a number of spell tests over her body for the fourth time. She clenched her teeth and fought through the tightness that gripped her. Breathing as steadily as possible, she breathed through the pain in her chest, her shoulders, her back. When their wands finally lowered, she dropped onto her knees, a hollow thud echoing in the room when her knees hit the brick floor. 

“Unspeakable Croaker,” Theo cut in, voice tight, “surely we’ve gotten the results we need by now.”

Croaker made a gruff noise in reply and nodded towards the first Unspeakable in the lineup. Pansy rolled her head away from staring up at the deep arches in the ceiling and watched as her colleague Holly cleared her throat.

“Sustained injuries, showing an unwieldy response to a number of magical medication and a few healing spells. Possible curse remnants remaining, though unknown in origin.” Holly reported her findings quickly and a few heads beside her nodded in agreement. She glanced towards Pansy before turning her attention back to Croaker.

Pansy watched as Croaker seemed to mull over Holly’s report. Holly was newer to the department, having joined a few years after Theo and Pansy. Pansy felt fairly ambivalent about her. She was professional enough, and they rarely crossed paths, as Holly often worked with cases and items relating to time. 

Croaker finally smoothed a hand over his mass of greying hair and cleared his throat. “Thank you, Ms. Devon. Did anyone discover anything new, perhaps? Or will that be it?” 

Pansy stopped herself from emitting a quiet laugh and instead sat back against her heels. They wouldn’t find anything new. None of them had in the past hour they had been there, or the day before, and the day before that. Croaker’s growing frustration was evident. He had already pulled a few Unspeakables from other departments to run tests over Pansy. And yet the origins of the curse were still shrouded in mystery and the lasting effects of its breaking remained convoluted. 

“If not, then perhaps one last test. Ms. Parkinson, on your feet, if you will.” Croaker pulled his wand from his robe and held it out in front of him, waiting for Pansy to stand.

With great effort, Pansy pushed herself back onto her feet until she was eye-level with Croaker. She knew he wasn’t a malicious man, but she couldn’t help but feel the day’s treatment was reflective of their earlier conversation about Hermione. 

“Brace yourself,” Croaker called out as light shot from his wand and energy coursed through Pansy’s body. Pansy’s eyes widened in surprise before her head was thrust back, cradled against her neck. She scrunched her eyes tightly and waiting for his spell to work its way through her. She could feel it pulling at her, picking at her magical core and searching for answers left by magical imprints. It almost felt as if the spell was running through traces of her memories, as images of Hermione surfaced and disappeared just as quick.

As the spell finished, Pansy felt Theo’s hand against her shoulder, steadying her. Croaker’s retreating steps could be heard clicking against the brick followed by the soft dragging of his robes, the sound of the heavy wooden doors to the testing room closing behind him finalizing his retreat. 

“Alright, Pans?” Theo waited for Pansy to get steady on her feet, and they watched as the rest of the Unspeakables nodded their goodbyes and quietly left the room, a few of them muttering out ‘Good on you, Parkinson’ and ‘Well done’ in support. 

“I take it your conversation this morning didn’t go well,” Theo asked as Pansy slowly followed him towards the door, wincing through the discomfort left by her earlier injuries and the remnants of the tests.

“It wasn’t excellent, no,” Pansy relayed, carefully stretching out her neck and her shoulders as far as her body would allow. She was back in her Unspeakables robes, but they felt tight and constricting around her aching body. 

Theo held open the door and shrugged, the two of them stepping into the dimly lit hallways of the Department of Mysteries. 

“Can’t get much worse though, can it?” Theo mused as they passed flickering candles and listened to their own voices echoing back at them.

“Well, the day isn’t over yet,” Pansy laugh drily.

Theo’s head turned to face Pansy as they walked and his brow furrowed in concern. “You’re not seriously still considering seeing your mother tonight, are you? I thought you were joking this morning.”

Pansy bit at the soft inside of her lip and kept her gaze in front. 

“Pansy…” Theo’s voice dropped, and he had to quicken his pace to keep up with Pansy’s sudden stride, though she walked stiffly, “tell me you’re joking.”

“Harry said I needed to talk to someone,” she countered, refusing to acknowledge the alarm in his voice.

“Bloody hell, Pansy. Someone who can actually help you, not your mother, of all people. It’s been, what—years? —since you’ve even heard from her? And you’re going to jeopardize everything now?” Theo hissed, quieting as they passed another Unspeakable in the hallway and the pair of them dipped their heads in a greeting.

“Promise me you’re not going,” Theo pressed, refusing to let Pansy’s silence quiet him.

“I can’t promise you that. We’ll see, alright, T? I’m exhausted, can we leave it at that?” Pansy stopped and moved to face him, reaching out to grab Theo’s arm and turning him until they were staring at each other intently. 

Theo’s face had clouded over and he was shaking his head. “You shouldn’t go, Pansy. You know that. I can’t stop you, but you shouldn’t go.” 

“I know,” Pansy conceded, wishing she could say something to reassure him. 

-

The evening crept up on her, and before Pansy could fully collect herself, it was already seven. She told herself she’d leave by then. But then it was ten after, then twenty after, and she was still on the edge of her chair, elbows against the cool surface of the table. Would the wards even recognize her? Would she be able to get in? Theo was right, she hadn’t heard from her mother in years, let alone visited. Theo’s words knocked about her head, and she couldn’t erase his warning from her mind. And she heard Hermione, too. She heard her firm voice—the one she used when she was trying to be stern—clearly in her head.

It was almost as if Hermione’s glaring absence in her life the past week had conjured up a spectre of her to fill that void. She still felt herself reaching through the bond sometimes for comfort, coming up short when she realized there was nothing on the other end. Even so, she found herself looked for the knowing stares, the indignant huffs when Hermione knew she was right, the way her lips curled when she smiled, her quick wit, her brilliant and strange way of being. She was gone and yet she wasn’t. 

She still felt her, in a way, when she finally gathered herself together to leave. She changed into something she thought her mother wouldn’t balk at and took only her new wand. It felt foreign in her hand but she knew she had to get used to it sooner or later. She missed the comfort and weight of her blackwood wand yet had been reassured the new Acacia wand would work just as well. 

All that was left to do was go. Pansy inhaled and tried to block out the protestations from her ribs. She pictured her ancestral family home and braced herself before spinning and disappearing from her home with a small crack.

-

Pansy was shocked on two fronts. First, she had landed on her feet despite feeling like she was momentarily catapulting through time. Second, the wards had recognized her magical signature and allowed her onto the grounds. She had half expected to be thrown back violently and took a moment instead to gain her bearings.

The grounds had changed little in the years she was gone. Staring at the stepped roof of the looming nineteenth-century manor, the familiar pang of home sang through her with a sharpness she hadn’t anticipated. To her left, the little pond tucked into the side of the grounds sat undisturbed, with stripped branches of her favourite willow trees dipping towards the water. There was an acrid smell in the air and she knew instinctively that the old apple orchard behind the home had already borne its fruit and hundreds of apples were now rotting into the grass, slowed only by the occasional frost. Most of the flowers she passed as she began moving were brown husks, save for a few bright blue patches of cornflowers that had snuck into the soil and grew past the carefully trimmed rose bushes. The hedges around her were groomed and the pathway leading to the home was tidy, but autumn had cast everything in withering shades of brown. 

Pansy took her time getting to the entrance. The door, heavy and formidable, had darkened stained-glass arches above it and fanning from each side. She couldn’t see light from the front but knew if her mother was home, she would be in the corner sitting room. Pansy pressed her hand to the door and held her breath as it pushed open with little issue. It took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the low light but much like the grounds, the front entrance was as she remembered it. Making her way through the hallway carefully, she passed overstuffed sitting chairs in patterned brocades, the walls above them lined with dusty portraits filled with ancient and sleeping occupants. As she walked, light coming from the back of the home grew. Almost before she was ready, she was standing at the entrance to her mother’s sitting room. Past the half-closed door, a noiseless fire burnt and filled the room with a soft warmth. 

“Do come in, dear.” 

Her mother’s voice materialized from a hidden part of the room and Pansy put her hand out against the doorframe on instinct. And then she was standing in front of her mum, mother and daughter watching each other with guarded eyes. Her mum, Violet, was neatly gathered on the edge of an armchair. She looked impossibly small, and Pansy’s gaze found the wrinkles that followed her jaw and the edges of her eyes, saw the way her tightly woven bun of thick black hair was lined with greys. Muted blue veins ran along her neck and through the almost-frightening white pallor of her skin. 

“So, you’ve come,” she murmured, unfolding herself and closing the distance between them. Pansy let her mother grasp her in a cool embrace, hands spreading on the back of Pansy’s head and shoulders. Pansy couldn’t speak, only nod into the press of her mother’s silken robes. Despite appearing frail, Pansy wasn’t surprised by the strength of her mother’s embrace. Her arms felt strong as she gripped Pansy close to her before stepping back to release her, hands now around her arms.

“And you’ve grown up, haven’t you? Aged,” she smiled, her voice full of polite fondness and something else, something darker. 

Pansy gently shook her mother’s arms off of her and took a step back, needing to keep space between them. She could barely keep track of the emotions threatening to tumble from her. She had missed her mother, missed her desperately, and she hated herself for it. She didn’t want to admit to the comfort she had felt from her hug, from smelling the rose water that drifted from her hair, the familiar softness of her evening robes. Entwined with her childhood longing for her mum was her anger—the kind that always felt close to the surface. She had come here for resolution, she had come to close a chapter of her life that she could never fully shake, and yet she already felt like she was no longer in control.

“Sit, Pansy, for goodness’ sakes. I’ll have one of the elves bring up tea.” Her mum was back in her chair, waving at Pansy to sit across from her. Pansy did, but hesitated.

“Mum, I’m not staying,” she managed, though she allowed herself to sink into the stuffed cushions. Her eyes flitted around the open room, noting little had changed. 

“Oh? So, you’ve come for what then, a quick hello?” Unperturbed, Violet’s thin eyebrow arched, and she laughed quietly, a high twinkling laugh that Pansy had almost forgotten about. 

“No, mum, it’s just—things have happened lately, which I had no control over. And things…came up. I want to put an end to it, and get some answers,” she finished, forcing herself now to maintain eye contact with her mum. She silently cursed herself for stumbling over her words, suddenly nervous in her mum’s presence. Violet stared back with a dead-panned gaze that made Pansy squirm.

A half-smile slid over her face. “Pansy, dear, you’ve never known what you wanted.” Pansy could hear the veiled taunt behind her words.

“Really?” It was Pansy’s turn to laugh this time, shaking her head. “I seem to remember knowing I didn’t want a relationship with you.”

“And yet here you are,” Violet waved her hand in front of her in a grand, mocking gesture, carefully pointed nails glinting against the light. “Honestly, Pansy, I never did understand your choices.”

Pansy paused and grit her teeth. “You know why I left, mum. You know what you’ve done.”

Violet feigned surprise as her fingertips rested lightly against her chest. “What, you mean advocate for your father’s pardon and the peaceful separation of purebloods and the Muggle-borns? Hardly worth turning away your own mother for, Pansy.”

“His pardon?” Exasperated, Pansy struggled to find her words. “Merin, mum—he’s dead. Dad’s dead. You’ve got to be absolutely mad to keep this up.”

“Bite your tongue, Pansy,” she hissed, sitting forward in her chair. Her relaxed stance immediately shifted to defence. “You think I don’t realize that? Your father’s position in society, post-mortem or not, has ramifications for my own status, and yours. And don’t you dare act like you haven’t benefitted from your father’s position. As if you didn’t benefit your whole life from it.”

Pansy matched her mother’s intensity, edging forward on her own seat. Frustration was building steadily, but she couldn’t deny the truth in her mum’s words. 

“I know I did, and I grapple with that almost every day, mum. Not very well, clearly. And that’s the problem, that’s the exact problem! Do you have any idea how this has affected me? Affected my life? Do you know how close I’ve become to losing my job because of you and your continued ‘advocacy?’”

Violet scoffed. “What, lose your little job at the Ministry? Pansy, you know I’d support you. I’ve been waiting for you to come and take up my work.”

Pansy clutched the edge of her chair, knuckles white against the dark-red brocade. This was going exactly as she feared. Her interactions with her mum, all those years ago, had grown to be short and explosive, the two of them clashing intensely. “I don’t want it, mum. I’ve told you a hundred times. I don’t want it. I’m only allowed to keep my job because I’ve proven to the Ministry that I’ve distanced myself from you. And you’re only allowed to run in your awful circles because the Ministry sees you as a mostly harmless old woman who can’t let go of her disgusting prejudices. And I—I shouldn’t even be here. It was a risk for me to even come. If there’s any sense that I’m still connected to you—”

“Or what?” she challenged. “What, Pansy—they’ll fire you? Not let you see your little…undesirable anymore?” Her voice rose and then fell again, ending almost in a hush.

Pansy reeled. She flexed her hands, forced herself to focus. “Excuse me?” she hissed, matching her mother’s tone.

“You seriously thought I didn’t know?” Violet jeered, leaning back. “I have eyes everywhere, dear. I heard you were in a terrible mix up with one of the Ministry’s beloved war heroes. A bond curse, I was told. Imagine my pain upon hearing, Pansy. This was a curse—no doubt—because of the path you’ve chosen.”

“You’re insane,” Pansy marvelled, barely able to contain her laughter, feeling her disbelief rising, her control of the situation slipping. “And don’t talk about her, don’t you dare.”

“Pansy,” her mother breathed, voice low, “you don’t love her—this Granger girl—do you? Surely this is a joke. Dear Merlin, Pansy, be serious. Born of Muggle parents, no family to speak of—"

“She has a family, mum,” Pansy managed to grit out.

Her mum made a noise of disbelief and shook her head. “What, her band of merry Muggle-lovers? Pansy—”

“Enough,” Pansy choked, “she has more family than I’ll ever have.”

Violet pursed her lips into a thin line, flashes of anger behind her eyes. “You know, Pansy, I still care for you, despite your outbursts. And your father—your father was a saint—a hero. I’ll not have you speak ill of him in his own home.”

“No,” Pansy laughed, “he wasn’t though, mum. He was none of those things. And you—you let him use me. You let all of them—”

“I’ll not hear it!” Violet stood, moving quicker than Pansy expected. “Not another word of your silly stories, Pansy. You could never take responsibility for your own actions.”

Pansy moved to her feet slowly, glad there was still enough space between them. She watched her mum’s hand clutch the side of her robe, knowing instinctively she was feeling for her wand. 

“And yet you deny it.” Breathless, Pansy felt her pulse strumming slow but loud in her ears. “I’ve shown you my scars, how can you—"

“Stories! Absolutely nothing but stories. But you know what, Pansy—” she drew herself up to her full height, which was almost as tall as Pansy stood, “I forgive you. For all this silliness, for your disgraceful behaviour towards me, your own mother, I forgive you.”

Pansy felt her heart lurch in her chest. She stared at her mother, at the defiant woman before her, who she had once loved more than anyone in the world. She saw her now fully for what she had been for many years: delusional, wilfully ignorant, proud. She knew then that she’d never get what she came for. There would be no answers from her mum, no apology, no real forgiveness. Her mother didn’t have it within her to give. 

Pansy could feel the press against the back of her eyelids and knew she had to leave. With her mother still fuming in front of her, Pansy quickly stepped forward and reached for her mum’s hand. Violet stared at her in confusion as Pansy squeezed her mother’s hand gently before letting it drop back to her side. She realized then she could only do what was within her power. Silently, she let go of her parents’ hold on her life and let the cord that held them together finally break.

Her mum opened her mouth to speak but Pansy had already moved back, focusing intently on an image of her home, and spinning out of place until her mother’s face—frozen in disbelief—faded out of sight. She knew this was it, and she wouldn’t see her mother again. Instead, she thought of her new family. She saw their faces swim before her as she disapparated from her old home. She saw Theo, Draco, even Harry, but mostly, she saw Hermione.


	19. Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all, slightly shorter chapter than usual as I didn't want to split up the next section. Hope everyone is doing ok and staying safe xx

Pansy ran the back of her hand across her mouth. She was shaking. The words _‘what now’_ ran through her head as she stumbled from her hallway and leaned against the wall. Her home was dark and cool and she couldn’t bring herself to flick on the lights. 

The vice grip her mother had on her felt weaker than it had in over a decade and Pansy felt almost weightless. The absurd urge to both laugh and burst into tears overwhelmed her and she found herself sliding down the wall, tasting salt in her mouth as she laughed into the darkness. Seeing her mum—as Theo had predicted—had gone horribly off course, but her relief at having done it was palpable. For years, she had been a shadow looming over every aspect of her life. Seeing her face to face, Pansy found that she loved her still—loved her despite of what she had done. She also found that her anger was like water in a sieve. Her mum—unchanging—could not hold all of Pansy’s anger, refused to accept her part in Pansy’s life, and Pansy had nowhere left to pin her grief. 

When her limbs started to numb from sitting on the floor, Pansy clutched at her ribs and stood. The allure of sleep was strong but even stronger was the need to see someone comforting, to talk to someone who’d understand. Without second-guessing herself, she ducked down and fit her body into the fireplace, a handful of powder clutched in her palm. She threw it to the ground and called out her destination clearly, knowing the wards in Draco and Harry’s home would let her in.

Pansy coughed against the swirling dust as she landed and stepped into the dark and quiet sitting room. Rubbing away any soot that might have stuck to her nose, she paused and listened for noise. Their home was eerily quiet, and Pansy hesitated before she moved.

“Draco?” she called, loud enough that anyone in the kitchen would hear. She poked her head around the corner and did a quick sweep of the quiet kitchen. There was an empty milk carton sitting beside a bowl on the counter but no sign of either of her friends. A chill licked up her spine and she straightened, trying to talk herself out of her instant suspicion. She was just being cautious—Harry might have been called in to work, Draco too, they could be at Ginny’s, or Neville’s, or anywhere really. Pansy paused for a breath. She was jumpier than usual and it frustrated her, feeling like her carefully honed intuition suddenly overnight resembled that of a fresh-faced Auror on their first day in the field. She felt totally out of tune with herself and it unnerved her.

She made her way past Draco’s office—empty, she found, and further down the house towards Harry’s. She tried again, calling Harry’s name, but no answer. By the time she turned the corner, there was light trickling out from under his door. Relieved, Pansy quickened her step, glad at least one of them was home. Harry knew enough about terrible family members to at least commiserate with her, and she felt almost proud of herself that night for taking his advice, feeling like Harry would be too. 

Her curled knuckles rapped lightly on the door before she pushed it open, feeling exhilarated.

“Harry, hi, sorry to intrude but I just had to—” Pansy tripped over her words in a rush to get them out, half her body already in Harry’s office when she stopped short.

“Pansy, hi.” Harry glanced up from his desk abruptly at her voice and smiled, his face a mix of surprised and welcoming. 

But Pansy was looking to his right, at the mass of dark curls hiding a bowed head. Hermione turned a half-second after Harry, and Pansy caught the look of confusion that marked her face. 

“Pansy?” she breathed, quiet enough that Pansy almost missed it. She watched as Hermione pushed her hair from her face and stared at her, bewildered. 

“Shit—sorry. I was looking for Draco, and I couldn’t find him, so I thought maybe you’d be home, but I didn’t know you had company—sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’ll just—” Pansy jerked herself back and quickly shut the door. Caught off guard and embarrassed, she swore under her breath and waited for a second before turning to leave. Her heart was beating unevenly and she felt a wave of heat pass over her. Resolutely, she began walking herself back down the hallway, putting her hand out every few feet against the wall to steady herself. She wanted to get home as soon as she possibly could. She’d sink into her sofa, hide under a blanket maybe. If she had _known_ Hermione would be there, she wouldn’t have—she would never have—

The door to Harry’s office cracked back open and Pansy held herself stiffly, waiting for Harry to trail behind her and pat her comfortingly on the shoulder. 

But it was Hermione’s voice instead, followed by the soft padding of her feet against the tile. “Pansy, before you go…”

Pansy sucked in a deep breath and tilted her head to the side to listen, unsure she could turn around to face her.

She didn’t have to. Hermione was already making her way over, having gently closed Harry’s door. Pansy waited until Hermione was standing in front of her, face staring up in the darkness at Pansy.

“Did you…know that I’d be here tonight?” Hermione asked, voice hushed, arms crossed in front of her protectively. 

Pansy took in the sight of her. She was wearing her favourite pair of worn jeans—torn across one knee—and the soft grey jumper Pansy liked, the one that felt like silk under her fingers. The dark rings were still under her eyes but they looked a little better, and her voice sounded stronger. Pansy wondered if the dark gashes on her arms had healed or if like her, remnants of the curse still lingered on her body. She found herself staring and her eyes darted back to Hermione’s face. Quietly, she noted that she seemed more solidly there and less like the ghost that appeared on Pansy’s doorstep a week ago. 

“No, I didn’t know you were here. I’m sorry Hermione, I wasn’t trying…” Pansy let her words trail out, realizing she wasn’t sure how to finish them. Hermione was looking at her with guarded eyes and Pansy had to stop herself on instinct from reaching for Hermione’s hand. 

Hermione gave a small nod and Pansy caught the corner of her lip turn. “I guess we’re both in the habit of just showing up, aren’t we?” she replied, and Pansy struggled to sort through the emotion behind her words, playful but marked with disappointment. 

“Yeah, I guess we are,” Pansy managed. 

Hermione pulled the side of her bottom lip into her mouth before she sighed and shifted her weight to her other foot. “Listen, Pansy, I wanted to tell you—well, I was actually just telling Harry, but I’ve agreed to undergo testing for Croaker and the department.”

Pansy’s posture stiffened as Hermione spoke. She sounded so matter of fact, as if they were colleagues who had run into each other on their way to lunch. But beneath Hermione’s wariness, Pansy sensed her discomfort. She shook her head. “Hermione…” she started, unsure how to verbalize how she suddenly felt protective of Hermione, why she didn’t want her to go. “You don’t have to do this. Really, you don’t. If you’re still healing, or if you don’t think you handle it right now—”

“I can handle it,” Hermione cut in, “and…I want to. I think it’s important research. And important to me if they can find anything else out about what happened to us.” Hermione paused and drew in a long breath, her gaze no longer holding Pansy’s but shifting to stare past her. “And Harry told me you were already undergoing tests. It just seems, I don’t know, right, I suppose, that we’d do it together.”

“It’s not fun,” Pansy replied, her voice hoarse. She silently cursed herself for not saying something comforting, or kind, or bloody normal instead. 

“No,” Hermione laughed drily, “I didn’t think it would be.” Her eyes were back on Pansy’s. Pansy felt pinned to the spot, held under Hermione’s gaze despite standing over her. She wondered had the bond still been present if she’d be able to draw from it and decipher what exactly that gaze meant. 

“Tomorrow, by the way.” Hermione broke the silence and Pansy blinked in response. “Croaker,” Hermione explained, “he asked that I come in tomorrow.”

Pansy nodded and tried to mask how unnerved she felt. Tomorrow? It was too soon. Her own tests had begun much too early, but for Croaker to ask Hermione to come in already was a different issue altogether. 

“Tomorrow, then,” she conceded, knowing Hermione had likely made up her mind already. “Still, you don’t have to show up. Just so you know.” Pansy drew out each word, savouring the small eyeroll she received. It was good to hear Hermione’s voice, good to see her face. 

“I know, Pansy,” Hermione emphasized in return, looking at Pansy like she had just sprouted wings.

“As long as you know,” Pansy repeated, unsure what exactly she was doing, but not wanting Hermione to leave just yet. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth.

“I do.” Hermione’s brow furrowed but her face had softened. Pansy had the urge to sweep a curl off her shoulder but fought it. 

They stood in cautious silence for another moment before Hermione made a motion back towards Harry’s office. “Tomorrow then, Parkinson.” Hermione brushed past her and Pansy murmured a goodbye in response. For a brief moment, she thought Hermione was going to touch her. Pansy swore she saw Hermione’s hand reach out, only to be carefully tucked back against her side as she retreated.

Pansy watched Hermione disappear—shoulders hunched, head down—before she turned to leave. Her chest felt heavy and her head warm as she made her way back through the house.

-

Hermione had to force herself not to turn back and catch another glance of Pansy. Gods, she had almost reached out to her. She could feel her heart in her throat and hoped her breathing hadn’t given her away. Of all things, she was nervous. Seeing Pansy was…different than she expected. Pansy looked white as a sheet, but mildly better than she had last time Hermione saw her. Her hair looked shorter, almost jagged around the bottom, like she had hacked a few inches off with her own wand. She was dressed strangely as well. Hermione thought her clothes seemed oddly formal, like something she’d wear to a Ministry dinner. Kicking herself for having noticed seemingly every detail about Pansy, Hermione couldn’t help but revel just a tiny bit in having caught her off guard. Not that she wasn’t equally as surprised—but it seemed like Pansy’s coldness had cracked around the edges and it made Hermione feel like they were finally meeting on equal ground. 

She planned to send Pansy an owl that night and let her know about her decision, but in a way, she was thankful she was able to do it in person instead. Seeing her put into focus a lot of the emotions she had been sorting through that week. She was still angry at her—how could she not be? And yet she wished they could have talked a little longer. She wanted to ask if she was sleeping okay at night, if she was feeling better, if she felt that strange hollowness inside of her like Hermione did. Pansy had been so close but it still felt like there were miles between them. 

Hermione’s resolve crumbled at the sight of Harry’s face when she slipped back into his office.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry asked, voice soft. 

Hermione shook her head. “Not really, but also yes,” she groaned, dropping back into the chair beside Harry’s desk. 

“She’s still walking stiffly,” Hermione murmured, watching as Harry warmed the cup of tea in front of her. 

“Theo mentioned her body is struggling to recover after the incident.” Harry chose his words carefully, pausing before continuing. “I think it’s affected you both differently.”

Hermione stared down at her now-steaming tea and wrapped her hands around it. “I swear Draco foreshadowed this. Did you know that I called him, back in Skye?” She glanced up, catching Harry’s eyebrows lifting in surprise. “I…needed advice, I suppose. A lifeline, something like that. Those few days there, I felt like I was drowning in the best way possible. Draco told me to be careful, to not get involved—which we both know is his polite way of saying get the fuck out of there.”

“He was just being cautious, I think,” Harry interjected, rubbing the corner of his eye with the heel of his palm. “Just covering his bases, you know him.” Hermione waited for him to finish before continuing.

She took a long breath. “And I didn’t, and now I’m the idiot, hating her, unable to stop thinking about her, wanting someone who doesn’t want me back. I just can’t help wondering if we had just stuck to…tolerating each other, if things would be easier now.” The words spilled out of her, unable to stop after a week of long silences. She heard Harry’s deep sigh as he listened, leaning back in his chair.

“I won’t make any apologies on Pansy’s behalf for what happened between the two of you,” Harry started, “but I do think she regrets how she handled things. That being said, things probably would be easier if you hadn’t gotten your heart involved. But that’s not like you. And I think that’s something you should be proud of, not beat yourself up about. It’s passion, ‘Mione. You have heart, you dive into things headfirst, you’re all head and heart at the same time and it’s brilliant.”

Hermione smiled up at her friend, thankful for his earnestness and his ability to find the good in most things. She stood and moved around the desk, pulling him onto his feet and into a hug.

“Thank you, by the way,” she muttered into the press of his jumper.

“Always doing a bit of Draco damage control,” he joked. Hermione stepped back and shook her head.

“No, he was right this time. But things will be fine. After tomorrow, that’s it. I’ll do Croaker’s tests and then, you know, get on with my life.” She laughed unconvincingly and let Harry squeeze her shoulder in support. 

“Never too late to back out,” he reminded her.

“Harry,” she sighed knowingly, “you’re literally the one who told me this was research worth pursuing.”

“Yeah, but at a later date,” Harry pointed out.

“Tomorrow, in a week, in a month, what’s the difference. I’ve got to tear it off, like a bandage.” Hermione shrugged half-heartedly. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bed and sleep. “Thanks for the tea though. I’ll check in soon—promise. Night, Harry.”

“Night, Hermione,” Harry replied. Hermione already had her hand on the door and gave a quick final wave before disappearing.


	20. Mirror

Being at the Ministry again felt strange. Hermione walked slowly through the halls, taking her time in getting to the entrance to the Department of Ministries. A few heads nodded their hellos as she passed, and she smiled in response. Truthfully, she was tired—that type of bone-weariness that came from not enough rest, too many fitful nights, days spent feeling cagey and irritated. 

When she finally pulled herself from bed that morning, she convinced herself to put on something a little professional before she went in. Trousers and an old jumper were the result, and she hadn’t bothered to twist her hair back into braids or pile it on her head. Instead, it sprung in curls around her face and down her neck. She wrapped one of those curls around her finger as she walked, trying to distract herself from the very real reality that Pansy was somewhere here, hidden within the deep walls of the Ministry. She was nearby, but perhaps not close. Hermione acknowledged she had no real way of knowing, no bond to drain the magic from her when she was gone, no tug in her heart when she reached through. 

Hermione boarded one of the many lifts in the atrium and waited as it descended further and further down, stopping at every floor to let off passengers. Mild chatter filled the lift and notes buzzed around the top, waiting to fly to their receiver. Hermione shuffled to the very back and waited until she was the last one left as the doors opened and signalled arrival at level nine.

She hadn’t been to the Department for many, many years. A chill ran over her as she walked past the black-tiled walls and waited beside the unassuming door at the end. A moment later, it opened.

“Ms. Granger,” Croaker’s looming frame was in front of her, smiling down, “glad you were able to make it. Please, I’ll take you to the testing area. Ms. Parkinson is already waiting.”

Hermione nodded and followed him through the door, leading them into the entrance chamber. It was just as she remembered it. She stared at the dark floor, almost like glass, seemingly unending. 

“Just here, Ms. Granger,” Croaker called, pointing towards one of the many doors surrounding them. Hermione already felt disoriented and she quickened her pace to keep up with Croaker. She trailed behind his heavy robes and heard the door behind her firmly shut and grind in its hinges as it shifted places. The testing area was somewhere she had never been before. She glanced up at its impossibly high arches and wondered if it was an illusion.

Her gaze found Pansy next. She was in the centre of the room, alone, in her Unspeakables uniform. The sight of her still tightened Hermione’s throat. Her face was almost unreadable, but she looked worn out, like she hadn’t slept much the night before. 

Croaker motioned for her to move towards Pansy and so she did, tipping her head in a quick greeting. Pansy nodded in return. Hermione thought her eyes softened when she did but wasn’t sure if she imagined it or not. Croaker waited until the two of them were side by side and arranged himself in front of them. He clasped his hands tightly and smiled at the pair. “Ms. Parkinson, Ms. Granger, I’d like to begin by thanking you both wholeheartedly for agreeing to undergo testing. As you know, the origins and ramifications of the soul magic you both have undergone are of great interest to the Department of Mysteries. While solo tests have been unsuccessful, I have hope that dual testing might be more illuminating.” 

Pansy cleared her throat. “Unspeakable Croaker, my apologies, but are you to perform the testing on your own?”

Hermione watched her from the corner of her eye and noticed the thinness to her voice.

“Yes, Ms. Parkinson,” Croaker confirmed, spreading his hands in an open gesture, “as you can see, I will be the one performing the testing today. I didn’t want your colleagues to pose as…distractions to our goal today. I hope this is an example of my seriousness in this endeavour.”

Pansy nodded abruptly and Croaker smiled. “Excellent. Well, if you have no questions, Ms. Granger, shall we begin?”

“I’m ready,” Hermione stated, feeling Pansy’s eyes on her. 

“Wonderful. Steady yourself, please,” Croaker called out, his wand firmly in his hand and pointed towards them. Hermione blinked in surprise and tried to brace herself in time as the first wave of his spell hit her firmly in the chest. 

Almost immediately, she felt Pansy’s hand covering hers, cool and soft. It seemed like she was floating weightless above the scene, staring down at their bodies. Her head had lolled back but she was still on her feet, Pansy’s hand clasped tightly on top of hers, gripping her palm. Images from the past months flitted past and she tried to grasp them, but they filtered through her mind before she could focus on any in particular: 

_Pansy was staring past her in the meeting room, standing stiffly beside Theo as Croaker introduced her to Hermione. Hermione holding Pansy close for the first time, their arms tangled in the crush of their bodies, fabric rough against her cheek as she breathed in relief from the pain, her magic dizzy around her._

Hermione gasped at the memories, seeing them more clearly than she had in weeks, feeling like she could reach out and touch them.

_She was crawling into Harry and Draco’s guest room, tucking herself into bed beside Pansy’s sleeping form, pillows stacked high between them. Pansy’s breathing was soft and even and the sound lulled Hermione to sleep. Millicent was in front of her next, hand clenched against her wrist before Pansy threw her to the ground, her chest heaving with ragged breaths and her eyes wild, staring at Hermione in a way that made her toes curl._

Hermione felt the images slip through her hands, flooding her, holding her captive.

_Pansy is curled into her armchair, legs dangling over the side. She can’t look away—beholden to the press of leather against thigh, the burn of wine in her throat. Pansy’s hands in her hair, holding her close, tilting her face up until Pansy’s mouth covered hers. They’re in Luna and Ginny’s kitchen next, and Pansy is defending her. The coldness of the hillsides of Skye consumes her next, and Pansy is holding her up, murmuring softly into her ear, telling her to breathe. They’re at the table, Hermione’s book in her hand, and she can’t help but grin at the sight of her. The dark sky is above them now, Pansy on the ground beside her, pointing up into the darkness. They’re laughing, and Hermione feels more alive than she has in years. The darkness spins and they’re underground now, Pansy’s face twisted in pain, her hand reaching for Hermione’s to force down the last stone—_

The spell dissipated and Hermione stood dazed for a moment. She gulped in deep breaths of air as she tried to centre herself around the feel of Pansy’s hand, needing to clutch something real. She felt like she had just emerged from underwater, memories still dripping from her. Pansy was almost motionless beside her, eyes heavy-lidded and squinting, head bowed. Hermione had the urge to say something, to comfort her, but could only squeeze her hand gently. She felt Pansy squeeze back. 

“Good!” Croaker shouted, and Hermione turned to him, having forgotten he was in the room. His brow was lined with a thin film of sweat but he looked excited. “Good, very good!” he repeated, ushering them back into place. Hermione tried to ask for a minute to catch her breath but found she couldn’t speak. Croaker lifted his wand for a second time and motioned for them to brace. 

The second spell hit her harder than she expected. It was sharp and edged with something like pain. She stumbled back, anchored only by Pansy’s grip. She felt was like she was coming apart, but slowly enough she could feel it happening. Instead of resisting, she leaned into the feeling. The spell covered her magical core and raced through it, bouncing off memories, hitting dead ends and deflecting onwards.  
She felt it hit those areas that seemed like blank spots in her memory, illuminating them briefly. She wished she could slip back into the memories that filled her vision, back into that space of unknowing. They felt sweet and bitter at the same time she let the sensation wash over her until just as abruptly, it stopped. 

“Fascinating,” she heard Croaker whisper. 

Pansy’s grasp on her hand tightened and Hermione swivelled to face her, feeling unsteady. Pansy was bent over, face obscured. Hermione took a second longer to respond, the realization that Pansy had reacted differently to the spell slowly dawning on her. Hermione moved in front of her, hand pushing back the drape of dark hair.

“Pansy?” Hermione’s eyes trailed over Pansy’s body, catching the tension she held in her shoulders.  
Her eyes were shut, teeth clenched, brow pulled together, breathing sounding laboured. Hermione’s fingers grazed her cheek and Pansy’s jaw flexed at her touch. Unsure what to do, Hermione carefully held Pansy’s cheek and waited until Pansy’s breathing came down, feeling Pansy nod into her palm as a silent recognition that she was okay. 

“What happened?” Hermione questioned, turning towards Croaker. He was staring at the pair of them intently, forefinger tapping against his lowered wand.

“What, indeed?” Croaker marvelled, stepping closer. “It appears your cores have responded uniquely to the spell. Most interesting. It’s almost as if your magical cores, knitted together by the bond, are suffering from their separation. Weakened, in a way. The ramifications of this…” Croaker trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief. “And yours, Ms. Granger, is responding almost positively to the spell, rather unlike Ms. Parkinson.”

Baffled, Hermione shook her head. “What does that mean?”

“If I knew, Ms. Granger…” Croaker shrugged, tried again. “It’s unclear, but of note that you seem immune to the pain Ms. Parkinson feels—”

“Pain?” Hermione interrupted, gaze flicking back and forth between Pansy and Croaker, unable to hide her surprise. Caught up in her own haze, she had assumed Pansy was experiencing the intensity of the spell. The mention of pain set her on edge and refocused her. 

Croaker noticed her change in tone and quickly tried to deflect. “Well, pain in the sense that it might flare up some of her existing injuries, but surely—”

Instinctively, Hermione stepped in front of Pansy, obscuring her from Croaker’s view as he fell silent. She was confronted again with the reality of the broken bond. She couldn’t feel what Pansy was feeling, didn’t know when her body reacted in pain. She tried to steady her voice as she spoke, overcome with frustration. “I think we’re done testing today, Unspeakable Croaker. We can discuss this…I don’t know, later, but not now. We’re done.” Her hands were trembling but her voice was firm. Croaker murmured in response though Hermione had already turned back to Pansy. She didn’t wait to watch him leave, his mouth drawn tightly into a frown.

“He’s an absolute prick,” Hermione announced, adrenaline still pulsing through her. “He—he knew, didn’t he—that you’d react that way? And he still wanted to continue with testing?”

“He cares about the research, nothing more, nothing less,” Pansy rasped, lifting her head to finally meet Hermione’s gaze. 

“And you warned me it wouldn’t be fun, but you didn’t…why didn’t you tell me? I never would have agreed to this.” Hermione peered up at Pansy, cautious not to raise her voice. 

“I owe Croaker a lot, he thinks these tests are necessary,” Pansy said by way of a response. Hermione thought she sounded defeated.

“That’s—that’s fucked, Pansy. He’s your boss, you should demand more of him.” Confused, Hermione started talking with her hands, gesturing towards the door Croaker left through while she spoke. “And you let me agree to this? What if my body reacted the same way yours did?” She was relentless, angry on Pansy’s behalf but also for herself. 

Pansy nodded and cautiously rolled her shoulders back, grimacing with the movement. “I know, Hermione. I should’ve pressed harder, told you exactly what was going on. I just—didn’t have it in me.” 

Hermione stared at Pansy blankly for a moment. She had readied herself for a fight, had almost welcomed it. She found herself struggling with what to say in return. 

“Okay.” The word slipped from Hermione’s mouth as she stood, mind grappling with how to respond.

“I can show you out,” Pansy sighed, looking past Hermione, eyes on the door. Hermione waited for a moment then shook her head.

“No, I’m not going.” She was surprised by the confidence in her own voice. Pansy’s face shifted from startled to confused and she looked unsure of what to do. Hermione wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but the wild anxiety she felt building in her chest told her to stay. The notion that this might be the last time she saw Pansy for a very long while gripped her and she took a second to settle the pounding in her ears.

“Alright, but Granger, we can’t exactly stay here.” Pansy gestured to the surrounding room, her statement sounding almost like a plea.

“I just—want a minute, that’s all,” Hermione pressed, hoping Pansy would give in. Pansy looked reluctant but she hadn’t moved from her position yet, which Hermione took as a sign to continue. 

“To start, as I said, what the absolute hell,” Hermione began, trying to slow herself down. “I—I feel like we need to talk through what just happened. But first, I just need you to know,” she paused, gave herself a second to quell the shaking in her hands, “I need you to know that I didn’t leave you, back in Skye. Before we broke the bond...I just wanted time. Time to—to get to know you better, to spend together. And I just—” Hermione waited, watching Pansy move towards her, “I wanted time, that’s all.” 

She stared at Pansy, a number of emotions flickering through her eyes. Finally, Pansy sighed. “I know you didn’t leave,” Pansy said, closer now, “I was wrong to accuse you of that.”

Hermione’s bottom lip fell open, taken aback. “Right, thank you, I…appreciate you saying that.”

Pansy was in front of her now, mirroring their interaction the night before. Hermione felt her nerves jump, immobilized under Pansy’s gaze. 

“You should’ve given me space, by the way,” Pansy added, and Hermione snorted in response. She almost laughed, caught between indignation and relief at catching glimpses of the Pansy she knew.

“And you shouldn’t have sent me away,” Hermione countered. Pansy’s lip quirked at her reply and Hermione found herself staring. 

“No, I shouldn’t have,” Pansy agreed. Hermione swore she felt a soft pull between them, almost like a phantom sensation of the bond. 

“And—” Hermione glanced back towards the floor, feeling heat against the tops of her cheeks, “I need you to know that I meant it, back when I said this was something to me. It’s still something. You can…I don’t know, tell yourself whatever you want—that it was just the bond—but I know you felt it too. I know you did, Pansy.” She used the last breath of her bravery to force herself to look up, ignoring the pattering of her heart in her chest. 

Pansy was watching her intently, the cords in her neck briefly visible as she swallowed and nodded at Hermione’s words. “You’re right, I did.” She chewed the edge of her lip, frustration traced into her brow. “Did you—” she exhaled, pushed her hair behind her ears, “did you mean what you said, back at my flat? That you missed me?” 

She sounded vulnerable, voice softer than before. Hermione held back the swell in her chest. “Yeah—,” she shook her head in bewilderment, “I mean, yes, you silly git—have you been listening to me at all?” she laughed, caught between disbelief and relief. 

“I’m not great at it, to be honest,” Pansy admitted, a small smile working its way onto her lips. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, feeling the tension slowly ease between them. “You’re really not.”

“I’m working on it,” Pansy breathed, lifting her hand, letting it settle against the crook of Hermione’s neck. Hermione held her gaze, skin hot beneath her touch as Pansy’s thumb traced the hollow of her throat, grazed the swell of her bottom lip. They were close enough that Hermione thought she could hear Pansy’s pulse between them. Pansy lowered her face until her cheek lay against Hermione’s forehead. She pressed her lips to the crown of her head, feeling Hermione shudder in response. 

“I missed you too.” Pansy broke the silence, her voice low. Hermione let the words sink in, relished the feeling of Pansy so close, breathed in her familiar scent. She lifted her head up in response and held her breath, letting Pansy trail her mouth across the landscape of her skin, lips pressing against her temple, the corner of her eye, the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw. She bathed in the feeling, holding back the emotion that threatened to flood her. Time felt suspended between them as Hermione tilted her face, caught the edge of Pansy’s jaw in her hand, pulling her mouth to hers. Their kiss felt rushed at first, like they could be pulled apart at any moment. Pansy deepened it, hand gathering and gently tugging a fistful of Hermione’s hair back, hand firm against her jaw, drawing them closer. 

“I missed you,” Pansy repeated, her words mumbled into the crush of Hermione’s mouth. Hermione smiled into the kiss, tugging at Pansy’s bottom lip with her teeth. She clutched at her, holding the back of Pansy’s neck, pulling her down towards her. She worried that if she didn’t hold her tightly, Pansy would pull back, the spell broken. Desire coursed through her, familiar and aching, mixed with pure elation. She felt set alight, so close to something she had wanted, had longed for. 

“Do you know what I’m feeling?” Hermione breathed, sensing the slight shake of Pansy’s head, her words swallowed between kisses. “Can you try?” she asked. She felt Pansy still.

“What’re you talking about?” Pansy asked, breathing heavily. Their foreheads were pressed together and Hermione rubbed the edges of Pansy’s hair between her fingers while she spoke.

“I know you’re a Legilimens,” Hermione murmured, feeling Pansy stiffen in response.

“Fucking Nott,” Pansy hissed, though her tone lacked malice, “I don’t practice it anymore.”

“Bullshit,” Hermione countered, voice softening, “I—want you to try, on me.” 

“Granger, absolutely not—” Pansy’s response was sharp, and she nudged Hermione’s hand away, trying to pull her in for another kiss.

“Wait, just—” Hermione persisted, though she arched into the press of Pansy against her, the dip of her hips, the rise of her chest. “I want you to feel—it’s different, I know, but I want…” she exhaled, struggling to find the words. She didn’t know if Pansy would understand, but a part of her wanted Pansy to delve back into the corners of her mind, to string back together the remnants of the bond. She wanted to feel seen—understood—and for Pansy to hold those parts of her. The uncomfortable emptiness that the bond left behind reminded her of what had filled it before, and for just a moment, she wanted Pansy to fill it again. 

“Alright.” Begrudgingly, Pansy agreed, stilling her hands. Hermione wondered if she missed it too, the cord of the bond between them. As Pansy gathered in a few deep breaths, Hermione focused the heat of Pansy’s body near hers, concentrated on the quiet hum of her own body responding to the weight of Pansy’s hands on her neck, her shoulder. 

“Relax,” Pansy murmured into her ear, and Hermione closed her eyes, tried to drop her defences, leaving her mind open. 

“No,” Pansy quietly corrected her, “eyes open.”

Hermione locked onto Pansy’s gaze, feeling herself swallowed whole by the greenness of Pansy’s eyes. She felt the presence of Pansy’s magic in her again, tentative but strong. It whirred through her recent memories, delving into the feelings that Hermione pushed forward. She felt Pansy hover over the memories that Croaker’s spells had unearthed, wondered if they made Pansy ache the way she had. She wanted Pansy to feel it all, to see it all—to experience the weight in her chest when they were in the cave, the sudden need to extend the bond crashing down on her, to taste the elation when they danced, the tightness in her throat when Pansy held her close. Hermione didn’t know how long they stood like that, locked together in body and mind, but when Pansy’s magic retreated, Hermione had to stop herself from slumping forward. 

“I—” Pansy started, lost for words, a hundred emotions flickering across her gaze. Hermione lifted her chin, her turn to press her mouth to Pansy’s neck, soothing her. She heard Pansy hum in response, as if letting what she had just seen slowly envelop her. Then Pansy’s hands were on her again, feverish, reaching for her and gathering her close. Her kisses were frantic, laced with such intensity that it momentarily startled her. 

“I dreamt of you,” Pansy mumbled, throat hoarse, eliciting a small groan from Hermione, “of you,” she continued, breathless, “laughing, under the stars, absolutely mad.” 

Hermione leaned into her touch, laughed between the press of their lips, her body buzzing with delight, with need.


	21. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, a few song recs for this chapter: Julia Jacklin's "Don't Know How to Keep Loving You" and "Convention," and Agnes Obel's "Familiar."

Hermione stumbled after Pansy as they hurried out of the Department of Mysteries, glancing back into the vast emptiness and high arched ceilings, the sounds of their quick breathing and hurried steps echoing around them. She let Pansy lead her, knowing her familiarity with the area would get them to the atrium quicker. With one hand firmly locked in Pansy’s, Hermione let the other wander up to her mouth, wordlessly touching her fingers against her lips. The slight swell of them felt foreign. Foreign and yet reassuring, as if she had to convince herself the last five minutes had really taken place. 

Her relief at arriving at the atrium was palpable. Hermione let the feeling coat her, taking a second to inhale and steady herself. Pansy was right, they couldn’t stay, and with every step they took away from the Department, Hermione felt herself get a little lighter. Pansy’s grip had loosened as well, though Hermione was acutely aware that she was still holding her hand. 

“Are you able to apparate?” Pansy asked, startled eyes skidding across the expanse of the atrium. Hermione paused, suddenly unsure. _Could she?_

“Side-along,” she decided, knowing it had worked for them a number of times before. Hermione almost paused but decided she would be fine. She hadn’t attempted apparition since leaving Skye but it was the quickest way home and she thought she’d be alright by now.

Pansy nodded, focusing her gaze back on Hermione. Hermione tried to smile but managed a half-grimace instead, hoping it looked comforting.

“I’ll take you home,” Pansy said, voice hushed, before Hermione felt herself gripped by the chest and spun out of the Ministry. 

But it was Pansy’s worn wooden floors that she saw first, followed by the familiar portraits hanging on the walls of dark grey and exposed brick. A few lights were left on, as if Pansy had expected to be home soon. 

“Oh—” Pansy started, sounding disoriented, “I must have thought of here, sorry—”

“It’s alright,” Hermione replied, her head still reeling from the movement. She was surprised to be back in Pansy’s front room – surprised because she had walked into their meeting today expecting it to be final, readying herself for goodbye. Her presence still felt tentative, unsure if Pansy would suddenly change her mind. She took a step forward and immediately stopped, feeling herself sway slightly. Her head felt heavy, unbalanced, and she glanced up to check if the room was really spinning or not before quickly bending over and heaving the contents of her stomach onto Pansy’s floor.

“Gods—Hermione?” Pansy’s voice reached her through a tunnel and Hermione pushed the heel of her palm against her forehead, soothed by the pressure. She blinked slowly and kept her body half-bent, waiting out the dizziness.

“Sorry—Merlin, I’m sorry, I’m alright,” she muttered towards the floor, “it’s just vertigo, I just need a minute.” She drew in ragged breaths and cursed herself for thinking she was fine. 

She felt Pansy’s hand against her back, rubbing soft circles. “We shouldn’t have apparated,” Pansy voiced, “I didn’t even think about it, I just didn’t realize…”

As her words faded out, Hermione could fill in what was left unsaid: she didn’t know Hermione was still suffering too, hadn’t realized the ending of the bond had left lingering effects that surfaced for her as well.

“I forget too,” Hermione sighed, frustrated with herself. She let Pansy continue to gently rub her back as she sat back on her heels for a few moments, letting the wave subside. “Sorry about your floor,” she added, watching as Pansy carefully took out her wand with her free hand and returned her floor to its former state. 

“It’s seen worse,” Pansy inferred drily, gently helping Hermione to her feet when she tried to stand. Hermione revelled in being held up and allowed Pansy to carefully pull her into her arms, hand warm against her back. She closed her eyes and leaned in, too tired to feel embarrassed, her head still quietly whirring. The pair of them stood, unmoving — breathing unevenly, Pansy’s chin atop Hermione’s curls.  
She let herself soak in the moment for a beat longer before slowly removing herself from Pansy’s hold.

“Can I—I just need a minute,” she stated, needing to splash water against her face, to rid the taste of bile in her mouth. Pansy nodded before Hermione turned and hastily made her way up the stairs, half-pulling herself up with both hands on the banister until she pushed open the door to Pansy’s bathroom.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror for a moment longer than was comfortable. “Shit,” she breathed, hands clenched around the tile counter. She felt worn, her mind buzzing, her body in protest. But she also felt hopeful. She hadn’t pictured the day going this way—hadn’t dared assumed. She reached for the toothbrush and quickly scrubbed at her teeth, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. She afforded herself a few more minutes alone before facing Pansy again. She ran her fingers through her hair, pressed a towel to her face, let herself sit on the edge of the toilet for a moment with her head in her hands. 

Pansy was waiting for her when she found her way back downstairs, leaning with the backs of her thighs pressed against her sofa. 

“Normally I’d make a joke here, but I have a policy against knocking a girl when she’s already down,” Pansy teased, and Hermione allowed herself a slight laugh, thankful that Pansy was trying to ease the sudden awkwardness that Hermione felt.

“Tea?” Pansy suggested.

“Yes, always,” Hermione sighed, trailing behind her into the kitchen. She noticed a lone vase propped on the windowsill, filled with loose sprigs of bright blue cornflowers of different lengths, looking like they had been hastily cut. A few lone climbing roses hung over the side of the vase, the edges of their white petals curled and browning. 

Hermione pulled out a stool and settled on it, leaning her arms onto the cool countertop.

“Can we…try this again?” she asked.

“Sure,” Pansy nodded, her back turned, kettle in hand.

“I used your toothbrush, by the way,” Hermione added. Pansy turned, eyebrows raised.

“Really, Granger? That’s…pretty gross.”

Hermione shrugged. “Think of it as retribution for all the times you wore your boots on my rug.”

Pansy snorted and shook her head, dark strands of hair floating around her face. “Glad to see you’re feeling better. But you’re forgetting you literally just threw up on my floor.”

“Point taken,” she muttered, her finger quietly tracing shapes along the counter. “Should we, you know, debrief? About what happened?”

“Hermione,” Pansy exhaled, though she sounded more tired than frustrated, “we’re not writing up a report about what just happened, if that’s where you’re going with this. But if you want to talk, yeah, we should.” 

Hermione chewed at the edge of her lip, unsure how to proceed. She wished she could rewind them to moments ago, still at the Ministry, Pansy’s face in her hands. It was like she had accidentally broken the spell between them as they settled across from one another, wariness creeping back in. On one hand, she wanted to talk about what had happened with Croaker. It…unsettled her. She understood he was dedicated to his work, but his relentlessness during testing seemed out of line. And Pansy’s willing devotion to him…it made sense, but it concerned her. But all of it seemed dwarfed by her desire to get them back to the place they had been. She wanted to hear Pansy admit she had missed her again, wanted that tentative openness that seemed momentarily within their grasp. 

“Fine,” she conceded, “but your department has some serious oversight issues.”

Pansy laughed, setting mugs down in front of them. “Find me one that doesn’t, Granger.”

“You trust Croaker,” she tried, coaxed on by Pansy’s laugh.

“I do,” Pansy managed.

“…even though he’s hurt you,” Hermione pressed.

Pansy glanced down at her mug thoughtfully before responding. “Yeah. It was his willingness to train some of us…less desirables, I guess you’d say, that let Theo and I even dream of having jobs at the Ministry. We didn’t really have anything else – it was go into hiding, or figure out a way forward. And Croaker…he’s been good to me, mentoring me, taking me under his wing. He got a lot of pushback in the beginning, but he gave us an actual chance.” She paused, a spoon materializing between her fingers, slowly stirring her tea. “He’s become a father figure of sorts to us.”

Hermione hummed her understanding and tried to tread lightly. “Sounds complicated,” she suggested. 

“It is,” Pansy said, “he taught us work first—above family, above relationships.”

“I bet that was a welcoming feeling,” Hermione murmured, “after everything that happened.” She pictured Pansy after the war, suffering the loss of her father, the loss of friends. She wondered if she also had thrown herself wholly into her work, finding meaning there when nothing else made sense. Hermione guessed that work had given shape and purpose to her life, a lifeline, a sense of numbness that pushed almost everything else out. It wasn’t always healthy, but it was survival. 

“It was…it used to be.” Hesitantly, Pansy set her mug down and rubbed at the corner of her eye. 

“And now?” Hermione asked.

“It’s different,” Pansy tried, as if weighing her words. Hermione could tell she was struggling to articulate herself, but watched as she fought through her discomfort. “There wasn’t really anyone to put first before.”

Hermione’s chest tightened but she agreed quietly, trying to hide the hitch in her breathing. “A lot has changed over the past few months for us,” she added. 

“You’re still getting headaches?” Pansy asked, and Hermione’s eyes shot up.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. _Did Draco tell her?_

“And you?” Hermione asked.

“I’m doing better, aches and pains just take time, I guess,” Pansy shrugged.

Hermione nodded, catching sight of the dulled but visible scars scrawled across her forearm. She knew things took time, knew some things never really healed. 

“Would you ever quit?” On a whim, Hermione caught Pansy’s gaze and asked her what had been on her mind for days. 

Pansy shifted her weight against the counter and pulled the edge of her lip between her teeth. “I…I’m not ready for that conversation,” she confessed. “I’m just not.”

Hermione thought she understood. “I shouldn’t have brought it up, sorry,” she added.

“No, I get it,” Pansy said, drawing in a deep breath before continuing. “And listen, I shouldn’t have brought up my dad to you the other week, that was unfair, I just…needed to lash out.”

Hermione took in this version of Pansy—stripped down from her regular wall of animosity, gentler. It seemed fitting, seeing her like this, barefoot in her own kitchen, contrasted with the harshness of her work clothes. 

“It’s alright,” Hermione added. Pansy shook her head and pushed forward.

“No, honestly, you’ve been…patient with me—kind—in ways I don’t deserve.”

“You deserve all those things,” she said, voice tight. 

Confusion stole across Pansy’s face, her throat working as she nodded. “Sod off, Granger,” she laughed, quickly brushing at her eyes. 

Hermione stood and moved past the counter, coming to stand across from Pansy. “I mean it,” she added, staring up at Pansy’s face. She looked beautiful like this—wet lashes clinging together, strong-jawed, lips red and sore from being over-chewed. 

For the first time in a long while, Hermione felt none of the things that had plagued her for months, none of the frustrations, or doubts, or lingering questions. She found herself instead caught in Pansy’s gaze, held beneath the questioning eyes. Hermione felt a pull in her stomach, a tight coil of realization so strong it caught her breath. 

She loved her. She _loved_ her. It was as if the feeling that had curled inside of her for months had finally unfurled, and she swallowed reflexively against the new understanding that threatened to choke her. She caught Pansy searching her face, a flicker of concern in her gaze. Warmth spread through her chest at the realization, overwhelming her.

She wasn’t sure who moved first. But when she stumbled forward, Pansy mirrored her step, and they caught each other somewhere in the middle. Hermione reached for her and let Pansy slip her hand against the back of her neck. Their kiss was slow and deep, and as Hermione tangled her arms around Pansy, she could feel the longing seeping from her, encircling them tightly. She poured what she had left of herself into Pansy, stretching up onto her toes, intensifying their kiss, her tongue grazing Pansy’s. She felt her lower back bump into the counter and let Pansy lift her, gripping her thighs, until she was seated. Pansy fit between her knees, her mouth insistent. 

Through the fog of their kiss, Hermione heard a whisper of Pansy’s voice from weeks ago in her head. _I can’t give you what you want._ She pushed past it, losing herself in Pansy’s grip. But it pressed against the back of her skull, her mind picking at it like a scab. _I can’t give you what you want._ And she knew what she wanted now—she wanted Pansy, fully, in a way she wasn’t sure Pansy could give. Her fingers gripped Pansy more tightly, clutching her closer. She nipped at her lips, roughening the kiss, trying to drown out the noise in her head. 

“Granger,” Pansy breathed, tilting her head back. Hermione pushed forward, refusing to lose connection.

“Hermione,” Pansy tried again, the pad of her thumb firm against Hermione’s neck. “What’s going through your head?” 

Hermione captured Pansy’s lips again, trying to distract her. She tasted tea on the edge of her tongue. The overwhelming need to feel Pansy coursed through her while anxiety quietly crept in. She wondered if Pansy could sense her apprehension, her worry. 

“Will you tell me?” Pansy murmured, letting Hermione kiss the corner of her mouth. Hermione was reluctant, unyielding, but the softness of Pansy’s voice caught her off guard. She hesitated, felt Pansy take advantage of her uncertainty by pressing her mouth against Hermione’s skin. Hermione closed her eyes, running her tongue across her teeth nervously. 

“I don’t know where to start,” she admitted. She heard Pansy’s quick exhale, as if readying herself.

“I saw…how you felt,” Pansy began, hands still on Hermione, foreheads a breath apart. “And I just—”

“You don’t have to know what you want,” Hermione countered, unsure she was prepared for Pansy’s answer. She felt safer in not knowing, secure in the unsaid. Pansy paused and Hermione stared back at her, realizing the only light in the room was streaming in from the hallway. The sun had dipped below her home and she watched Pansy’s eyes, suspended in the darkness.

“Do you? Know what you want, that is?” Pansy managed, voice thick. 

“I think,” Hermione tried to still her racing mind, ignoring the sudden jolt down her spine, “I still have questions about the bond, things I want answers to.” She felt Pansy nod, knowing she likely shared some of the same questions, the same fears. She pushed on. “And I don’t think the bond was a gift. It wasn’t. But you…I think you were a gift. And I want you to know—even if you don’t want this—I’m going to carry this with me. I think I can still hold it close.” Her voice trailed off, feeling sliced open and laid bare by her admission. 

“But what do you want, Hermione?” Pansy pressed, her voice barely above a whisper. Hermione let out a choked laugh and ignored the press against her eyelids.

“You, Pansy. I want you. And this,” she breathed, one palm against Pansy’s cheek, fingertips disappearing into her hairline. “I want this. But not just for now. You—fighting with me, trailing mud on my favourite rug with those stupid boots. I want you. And you have to be here, okay? You have to want this too. I can’t do this halfway.” The weight of her words fell heavy between them. Pansy was breathing shallow, her chest rising faster than it could fall. She was gripping Hermione in return, the pair of them momentarily suspended in silence. 

“Hermione—” Pansy murmured, shaking her head, “I think—I think you already have me. And I think if you left again, it would end me,” she swallowed, tongue pressed against the back of her teeth, “because I want this too.”

Hermione found herself unable to speak, nodding instead into the crook of Pansy’s neck. Pansy gently pulled her back, held her face in her hands, wiped away the strands of hair that stuck to her cheeks. Their lips met tentatively, as if holding space for the newness between them. Pansy cupped Hermione’s chin, peppering her mouth with easy kisses, slow and soft. Wordlessly, she gripped Hermione’s hand, letting her follow close behind until Pansy pushed her bedroom door open.

It smelt like Pansy—the scent of lavender and cedarwood hanging heavy in the air. Her eyes immediately went to the bare wall beside Pansy’s bed. She was sure a painting had been there before, the one of the manor. She blinked against the memory and took in the rest of the room.

“Do you remember,” Hermione said, waiting until Pansy stilled, “when I stayed here, that first night? I asked if you’d share the bed with me.”

“I remember.” Pansy tilted her head to listen, settling herself on the edge of the bed. 

Hermione sat beside her, hands absently filtering through the soft sheets. “I was – gods, I was so embarrassed when you said no.”

“I was scared,” Pansy admitted. 

“Of what?” 

“Theo used to accuse me of being scared of wanting something. Scared that people might mean more to me than I wanted them to. He was right.” Pansy stared down at her folded hands, and Hermione instinctively reached out and pulled them into her lap.

“But you’re not anymore?” she asked. 

Pansy met her gaze. “No, I still am. I wish I wasn’t. But I feel…tied to you. I thought after we ended the bond, we’d be able to move forward. But I can’t. And I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

Hermione understood. She had felt the same and wondered at what moment she had agreed to stop fighting it as well. She toyed with Pansy’s hands in her lap, mulling over her words. She was afraid too. 

“Yeah,” she breathed, “I’m done fighting it too.” 

“And with this conversation, to be honest,” Pansy added, and Hermione mock-gasped in surprise, gently shoving her by the shoulders. 

“You’re such a prat, honestly. Can’t we have a single nice moment?” Exasperated, she could barely hold in her laugh.

Pansy rubbed at her shoulder, wincing at the force. “Probably not, Granger,” she grinned, but she was already reaching for Hermione, not giving her the chance to respond. Her mouth was more demanding this time, and Hermione responded in kind. She hummed into Pansy’s mouth, desire knotting firmly in her stomach.

She needed to feel Pansy, to have nothing between them. Hermione’s fingers fumbled at the hem of Pansy’s shirt, waiting for Pansy to tug it off before she found hers next. Pansy carefully pulled Hermione’s shirt over her head, but Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off of Pansy. 

Her eyes darted across the expanse of pale skin, fingers ghosting over the slight indents of ribs, faded yellow and blue bruises blooming from each dip. She took in the streaks of her scars and brushed her fingers against them, feeling Pansy shudder at her touch. She felt a pang at seeing the damage, having it at her fingertips. Hermione leaned down and pressed her mouth to the edge of each scar, hearing Pansy’s soft gasp from above. She couldn’t pull her lips away, needing to cover Pansy. It felt a little like devotion. 

Her mouth trailed up her chest, her thumb reaching out to roll over an exposed nipple. Pansy inhaled sharply and waited until Hermione found her mouth again. She quickly tugged off her trousers while Hermione followed suit, their mouths separating and crashing back together as Pansy gripped Hermione’s face in her hand. 

There was none of the lingering shyness that Hermione had felt their first time together. She gently pushed Pansy back against the bed, careful not to put pressure on her. She hovered above, hands skimming across her skin—the tops of her thighs, the curve of her hip. Pansy arched into her touch, hungry for it. She dipped her fingers into Pansy, her pace slow and maddening. Her thumb circled her clit, her own breath hitching, enamoured with the way Pansy felt under her hands. She took in Pansy’s rising chest, the firm set of her jaw, moans escaping from her throat as she kept one hand inside of her, the other holding herself above. She felt Pansy come apart around her, gasping as she leaned forward, capturing Hermione’s mouth in hers. 

Pansy groaned into her mouth, pulling Hermione down beside her. Pansy quickly straddled her hips and Hermione felt her stomach flip in anticipation. Pansy took her time, without the urgency Hermione had felt, carefully pushing one of Hermione’s knees out of the way. Her hands stroked along her thighs, reaching up to thumb her nipples. Hermione curved her body closer, stretching to meet Pansy’s hands. 

“You’re beautiful,” Pansy murmured, fingers trailing down Hermione’s soft stomach, her skin golden-brown in the dim light. She slid her fingers inside of her and Hermione gasped. Hermione pulled Pansy’s mouth down onto hers, her moans swallowed by their mouths. Pansy kissed down the side of Hermione’s neck, her teeth tugging at soft skin. Hermione felt pressure building inside of her, letting herself be carried by the feel of Pansy’s fingers, the nip of her teeth, the murmured words of encouragement in her ear. She pushed her hips up, desperate for more contact. The pressure unwound her, coursing through her body, her nerves bursting with the feeling. 

Pansy carried her through her orgasm, easing her fingers out, mouth still hot against her skin. Hermione let her breathing come down, feeling the bed shift with Pansy’s weight as she dropped down beside her. Not waiting for an invitation, she curled herself closer, tucking her body up against her. Pansy pulled at a sheet and covered them, pressing her mouth to the back of Hermione’s neck. 

Hermione’s body buzzed with the aftereffects. Emotion welled her in chest – she was exhausted, her whole body now fighting against her to sleep. She wanted to tell Pansy, wanted to tell her exactly what she meant to her. She hoped she could feel it instead.


	22. Ease

Pansy scrubbed at her eyes, blinking against the bright sunlight filtering into her room. She felt like a train had hit her the night before – groggy, a little disoriented. She heard soft, even breathing beside her and jolted up in bed.

“Son of a bludger,” she hissed, staring down at Hermione’s sleeping form. Hermione looked dead to the world, sheets clutched between her hands and tucked close to her body, knees curled towards her chest. Her hair fanned across Pansy’s pillows in long and curled waves. Pansy sighed, allowing herself a quick moment to run her fingers atop the curls. It felt strange, trying out this new form of…what—intimacy? She wasn’t sure how to categorize it in her head. Things with Millicent had been markedly easier in some ways. They came from the same background, had the same general notions about relationships. Real affection had been scarce.

She left Hermione to sleep, quietly making her way downstairs while hastily tying a thin bathrobe around her waist. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but it seemed impossibly early. 

Something in the hallway caught her eye. A neat white envelope had been pushed underneath her door, waiting for her to find it. She recognized the scrawled handwriting right away. Sighing, she turned it over and slid it open with her index finger, pulling out a short note as she tucked the envelope under her arm. 

_Ms. Parkinson, your absence at work today leads me to believe you are unwell this morning. I do hope you are able to recover soon. S.C._

She had overslept. Swearing under her breath, Pansy read and re-read the note, running her tongue over her teeth. Despite the undertone of the letter, it seemed vaguely understanding, at least coming from Croaker. Of course he had expected her to come into work that morning, she wasn’t sure why she was surprised otherwise. At this rate, she certainly didn’t plan on showing up mid-day. She wondered if Theo would stop by later, concerned by her absence. 

She dropped the letter, envelope and all, back by the door. Despite years of training herself to become a morning person, Pansy climbed back up the stairs and into bed. Hermione stretched at the shift of her weight on the mattress, giving Pansy the opportunity to curl up behind her. She brushed Hermione’s hair out of the way and nestled herself closer.

-

“Morning, you in for coffee?” 

Pansy stretched, eased herself up, and gratefully accepted Hermione’s offer. Hermione hid her yawn and sat in front of Pansy on the bed, legs folded beneath her. Pansy took in her half-lidded eyes, the mess of curls piled high on her head, the old shirt she must have found in Pansy’s closet falling off the edge of her shoulder. 

“Well, it’s past noon, but morning enough, right?” Hermione said. 

“You’re awfully cheerful, Granger,” Pansy teased.

“Guess so,” Hermione mused, smiling easily. “I slept well, actually. Really well.” She sipped at her coffee and eyed Pansy across from her. Pansy ran a free hand through her hair roughly, tucking it behind her ears. 

“You have plans for the day?” Hermione asked, her tone light. Pansy took a swig of her coffee, almost sputtering against the heat. 

“I know you were up earlier by the way, saw the letter and all,” Hermione added, interrupting her thoughts.

“Right,” Pansy sighed. The letter.

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded, watching Pansy’s face as she spoke, “kind of presumptuous of him to assume you’d be coming in to work right away after yesterday.” 

“Guess I’m on sick leave,” Pansy said. Truthfully, she hadn’t taken time off work in years. The week after the bond had been the first time she didn’t go into work since she started. Whereas before she had felt caged, now not being there felt more like an uncomfortable itch.

“Since you’re not going in, we could just, I don’t know, spend the day together?” Hermione suggested.

Hermione looked so cautiously optimistic that Pansy felt a twinge in her gut. When she had crawled back into bed that morning, she had yet to really consider what she was going to do with her day.

“Erm, alright. Here?” Pansy tried, feeling her chest warm at Hermione’s smile.

They stayed in bed for the next few hours, the pair of them nursing their coffees and chatting. As Hermione explained to her the necessity of hour limits on time-turners, Pansy let her mind wander. She thought about how normal this felt, how easy it seemed. Hermione’s leg was leaning against hers, both of them propped against the headboard. Hermione was animated. Pansy had to suppress the urge to grin. 

“Pansy, are you listening?” Hermione paused. 

“Mm,” Pansy tried, “you mentioned something about the fabric of time threshold?”

Hermione’s face fell, but so slightly that Pansy almost missed it.

“It’s interesting, though,” Pansy quickly cut in, “it’s just, you know, I know a lot about time-turners.” She wished she could tell Hermione about Theo’s research into true time-turners, about the various prototypes he was working on. Pansy had helped him with a number of them, though research into time was really more Theo’s wheelhouse. 

“Oh, of course, I forget where you work sometimes, sorry.” Hermione tugged at one of her loose curls, looking a little caught off guard.

“No, no—” Pansy scrambled to explain, wanting Hermione to continue, “I like hearing you talk about this stuff. I know you’ve been researching magical items. I like that you’re…passionate about it,” she managed, wishing she said more. She wanted to tell her how she loved the way her eyes flashed when she was excited, the way her hands swirled around her as she talked about something she found interesting. Hermione came alive when she discussed her research, and Pansy was enamoured by it.

“Passionate?” Hermione laughed. “Haven’t heard that one before. Ginny would probably say ‘intense,’ though Ron has always preferred ‘mental.’”

“It suits you,” Pansy said, relieved when Hermione shrugged and smiled in response. 

“How about you keep telling me about it, and I’ll make us breakfast?” Pansy offered. 

“Good idea, though I think it’s brunch at this point,” Hermione clarified, sliding off the bed. 

“Like elevenses but three hours late,” Pansy said, following Hermione down the stairs.

-

Hermione cradled her chin in her hand as she watched Pansy chop through a pile of tomatoes, gripping the knife as easily as she would her wand. She liked watching Pansy cook. She looked totally at ease, moving seamlessly through the motions. 

They had just finished bantering back and forth about what constituted a proper breakfast and Hermione sunk into the comfortable silence between them. She was almost finished her second coffee, feeling jittery from the caffeine. Her gaze fell back on the flowers she had noticed the night before.

“They’re nice,” she said, waiting for Pansy to turn before she pointed towards the vase. “The cornflowers are in good shape. Where’d you find them?”

Pansy froze, her shoulders stiffening. Hermione watched her with interest, surprised at the sudden shift in mood.

“I picked them from my mum’s garden, actually,” Pansy said. She sounded resigned. Hermione took a second, mulling over what to say.

“That’s nice,” she tried. “You still see your mum?”

“No,” Pansy admitted. “I mean, I did, but no, I don’t usually see her.” 

Hermione raised her eyebrows in response, nodding slowly.

“Did Draco or Harry tell you anything about her?” Pansy asked as Hermione shook her head.

“No, not really. I…saw the photo of your family though. She’s beautiful. The two of you looked close.” 

“We were,” Pansy murmured. She laid down the knife and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not able to see her, though. She hasn’t been able to move on since the war. She’s watched, constantly, by the Ministry. She’s a massive liability to my career,” Pansy said. 

“You still care about her though, don’t you?” Hermione asked.

“She’s my mum,” Pansy shrugged, unsure how else to explain it, “but I can’t—I can’t afford to have a relationship with her.”

Hermione made a noise of sympathy, knowing what it felt like to miss your parents. 

“She knows about us,” Pansy mentioned, and Hermione took in the discomfort written across Pansy’s face. Panic prickled at the back of her neck. 

“And that’s a…problem?” Hermione ventured. She felt on alert—unsure if Pansy was embarrassed to be involved with her, if she was cowed by her mother’s judgement.

“It’s a problem,” Pansy confirmed, and Hermione fought against the wave of nausea that gripped her. 

“She has me watched too, ironically. I’m worried she’ll…I know she wouldn’t, but…” Pansy gritted her teeth, tried again. “I’m worried she would have someone do something to you.”

“Oh,” Hermione muttered, caught off guard again. “Because of who I am?”

Pansy nodded. “I tried to convince myself she didn’t buy all the elitism and superiority discourse. But she did, in the end. With my dad gone, I think she…clings to it – as a way to keep him with her. I can’t be around her anymore. And with us…” Pansy paused, “she still has contacts.”

“I’ve taken on worse,” Hermione chuckled nervously.

“I believe it,” Pansy replied, and Hermione’s shoulders relaxed. “I just…don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“You can say you care about me, too,” Hermione said, eager to ease the tense moment.

“What, last night wasn’t enough for you?” Pansy snorted, turning back to the stove. 

Hermione came up behind her and wrapped her arms around Pansy’s waist, leaning her head against her back. It was the type of comfortable intimacy she had longed for, and she soaked in the way Pansy relaxed, thrilled when she didn’t pull away. 

“I’m more of an everyday declarations kind of person,” she murmured into the press of Pansy’s shoulder. 

“We’ll work on that,” Pansy mused.

-

They didn’t leave Pansy’s flat for two days. Hermione felt like they were making up for lost time. There was no looming threat of the bond, no task at hand to focus on, just the two of them tucked away. They didn’t breach the conversation of Pansy’s mum again and Hermione was thankful for it. Instead, Pansy cooked, Hermione showed her some of Molly’s best cleaning spells, and they curled into bed earlier than usual that night, falling into each other’s arms. When Croaker’s second letter came the next morning, Pansy ignored it. 

Hermione listened while Pansy told her stories about training with Theo, about her childhood, about her school antics, and Hermione regaled her with incidents during her work in the field for _Hogwarts: A History._

Hermione felt full. Giddy, almost. She could tell Pansy felt the same. She had never seen her smile so much in a day, and her teasing felt more playful than biting. That night, the two of them were wrapped up in Pansy’s tangled sheets, laughing, Hermione kissing her neck, when Pansy stilled.

“Someone’s coming,” she hissed, jolting out of bed, throwing on clothes faster than Hermione had ever seen. She sat, dumbfounded, on the bed. “Here,” Pansy whispered, tossing Hermione a shirt. Hermione had barely blinked before Pansy was out of the room, creeping down her stairs silently, wand in front of her. She struggled to pull on Pansy’s old shirt and a pair of shorts, jumping on one leg while straining to hear.

“Draco?”

She felt a wave of relief at Pansy’s voice, though Draco’s voice was muffled from the hallway. Hermione heard a few words exchanged before she tumbled out of the room, standing at the top of the stairs.

“Well knock me off my broom and call me a Weasley,” Draco marvelled, his smile turning into a grin. 

“Granger, didn’t expect to see you here. Harry and Ginny have been looking for you, and yet here you are.” He spread his hands out, ignoring Pansy’s indignant huff.

“Looking for me?” Hermione questioned, confused.

“You’re an hour late for dinner,” Draco explained, “which is an emergency, apparently. According to Ginny, at least.”

“It’s Wednesday?” Hermione gasped.

“Yes, it is. No doubt you forgot, cooped up here in your little love nest. I was tasked with asking Pansy if she had seen you,” he sighed, exasperated, though Hermione caught the amusement in his tone. 

“Alright,” Hermione hesitated before shaking her head. “Of course, yeah, I’m coming. Shit, I can’t believe I forgot,” she muttered. She glanced towards Pansy, who was doing her best to hide a look of disappointment. Her arms were now tucked protectively in front of her, her lips pursed tightly together. Hermione paused.

“You’re coming too, Pansy?” she asked, hand on the bannister. 

Pansy stiffened, her shoulders tight. “I think I’ll sit this one out, if you don’t mind.”

“Nonsense, Pansy,” Draco interceded, “you’ve already been found out. You may as well.”

Pansy sighed, slowly stretching until Hermione heard two audible clicks from her spine cracking. Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine,” she agreed, “let me put something decent on.” 

-

The three of them floo’d together back to Harry and Draco’s. Hermione was grateful for Pansy’s firm grip on her arm, holding her steady. She dusted off her clothes and turned back to Pansy, noting her uneasy stare. Hermione smirked at the sight of her. She had changed into what she deemed as ‘casual’ wear, though Hermione had never seen such a lush-looking jumper in her life. 

Draco waved them forward, his mouth pressed into a thin line, almost as if he was suppressing a smile. “Straight to the table, both of you. No doubt Weasel will be angry at having to wait for his dinner.” 

As Hermione brushed past him, she felt Draco’s hand reach out and rest against her arm. They locked eyes while Draco searched her gaze quickly. Hermione gave his hand a small squeeze before it fell away.

The whole house smelt of cinnamon, turmeric, and fresh ginger. Hermione knew instantly that Harry would be hustling around the kitchen, caught between magical food prep and old-fashioned cooking. She followed the sound of voices, picking up on Luna’s soft tones beneath Ginny’s loud exclamations. Pansy trailed two steps behind her.

“Delivery!” Draco called out, walking ahead of them as they entered the noisy kitchen. “Your prodigal witch, returned, and unharmed,” he laughed, and Hermione stopped herself from elbowing him in the ribs.

Ginny swung around, eyes wide. “Where were you?” she gaped, red hair flying around as she marched towards the group, relief and frustration written across her face. “I checked your place already, and Harry said—wait,” Ginny paused, noticing Pansy lingering behind the pair. 

Neville, plates in hand, stopped on his way to the table and stared. “Pansy?” he asked, looking startled.

“Problem, Longbottom?” Pansy asked, moving forward until she stood beside Hermione. Hermione reached for her hand.

“No, not at all,” Neville shrugged, “just surprised to see you.”

“And glad to see you both,” Luna added from behind the group. 

“Hi, happy you two could finally join us, now could one of you hand me a trivet?” Harry called. 

Dinner was lively. Hermione grinned at Luna’s discussion of the top stories at The Quibbler while Ginny and Neville peppered her with questions. “Nargle breeding patterns are actually quite complex,” she explained, while the group nodded solemnly, “I think it’ll make an excellent filler story for the December issue.” Neville blushed at Draco’s questioning and Hermione felt herself relax, hand laying on Pansy’s knee underneath the table. 

Pansy had been unusually quiet during dinner. Hermione watched her from the corner of her eye, noticing that Ron had been watching her as well. Ron was drinking, and so was Hermione. When the dishes had finally been cleared and the group of eight wandered into the sitting room, a few of them were swaying. 

“Dessert?” Harry asked.

“More than anything,” Ron replied, butterbeer swishing in his glass as he raised it.

“Alright, then help me bring it out,” Harry laughed, tugging Hermione up from the sofa to help. Pansy stood to follow, but Harry waved her back.

“We’ve got this, Pansy,” he called, and Hermione linked arms with the two of them as Harry directed them back to the kitchen and away from the din of conversation.

Hermione half-listened as Ron and Harry chatted about work, mindlessly handing them plates and reaching into the fridge when Harry asked her for something. When she turned back around, she paused as two sets of eyes focused in at her.

“Alright, Harry?” she asked, passing him a glass bowl filled with whip. Ron and Harry exchanged glances.

“So it went well, then?” Harry tried. Hermione looked between the two of them.

“What went well?”

“You know,” Ron filled in, “the thing with Croaker. With Pansy, really.” 

“The test? It was…fine. I stayed with Pansy after,” Hermione supplied. She felt a little fuzzy from the wine, and each word fell slowly from her lips. Ron was scratching the back of his neck, lightly calloused hands tousling his already dishevelled hair.

“Had a good talk?” Harry asked.

“What is this?” Suspicious, Hermione turned until she was fully facing them. Ron opened his mouth to object before he was cut off. 

“Hold on, am I missing something?” Ginny strode in, pushing past Ron until her head fit between them.

“Merlin’s beard, you three,” Hermione said, keeping her voice low. “Why do I feel like I’m being interrogated?”

“You really expected to disappear for two days and show up with Parkinson in tow and not have us ask questions?” Ron shot back.

“Yeah, spill it,” Ginny agreed.

“Incorrigible,” Hermione muttered. “You didn’t miss anything, Gin. I was just saying that I stayed with Pansy for a few days.”

“Knew it,” Ginny declared, her grin spreading. “Ron, you owe me a tenner. Pay up.”

“Gods, hold up, you bet on my relationship?” Hermione hissed.

“So you admit, it’s a relationship,” Ginny teased. Hermione made a noise of frustration. Her gaze moved between the three of them. She thought Harry might be the first to crack and let her go, but he was held firmly in place by Ginny’s elbows planted on both his and Ron’s shoulders.

“I don’t know, yes, maybe? Is that enough, you absolute vultures?” Hermione said. 

“Oh, there you all are.” Luna drifted in behind them, crowding into the growing group. Ginny shifted to give her room and Hermione looked pleadingly at her. 

“Dessert giving everyone trouble?” Luna asked.

“I’ve come to help!” Draco hurried in a beat later, pushing his way in. The six of them barely fit into the small space between the fridge and the countertop. 

Harry groaned. “Draco, you left Neville in there with Pansy?”

“Why’s that a problem?” Hermione interjected.

“It’s not, but, you know, it’s Pansy and Neville,” Harry explained.

“Oh, they’ll be alright,” Draco said. “I heard Longbottom try to entice Pansy into conversation with the story of when he got a basket of leaping toadstools stuck in his trousers.”

“This is ridiculous,” Hermione moaned. 

“What?” Draco feigned innocence, “I’m just here to help with dessert.” Ron grunted in disbelief and Ginny tried to speak before Luna held up her hand. 

“You know, Hermione,” Luna mused, “there’s nothing wrong with saying you and Pansy have reconnected. You know we’d accept you both.”

“Not before we sit her down first,” Ron muttered. Ginny shot him a disparaging glance.

“Gods, no one is sitting down anyone. Is that understood? Boys?” Hermione glared at Ron, who in turn glanced at Draco and Harry. 

“I said nothing of the sort,” Draco sniffed.

“Ooh, I could blast you all into next week.” Hermione pressed her fingers into her forehead. “Yes, we’ve ‘reconnected,’ Luna, thank you. It’s very…new. Is it too much to ask for everyone to just act at least a little normal about it tonight?” 

Luna stepped forward and pulled Hermione into a tight hug. Hermione sighed into her ashen curls, watching as Draco steered Harry and Ron away. Ginny reached over and squeezed the top of her shoulder. Hermione managed a smile in response. 

“Shall we find our way back in?” Luna asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a lighter chapter this time! I wrote this mostly past midnight so, you know, take it as you will. Listened to Boniface's self-titled album while writing. Hope everyone is doing okay out there xx


	23. Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, while writing I listened to Aldous Harding’s “Horizon,” “The World is Looking for You,” “Swell Does the Skull,” and “Heaven is Empty.” As always, if anyone wants to chat about the fic I'm over on tumblr as glitterslytherin xx

Hermione moved to follow Luna back into the sitting room, but Ginny’s hand on her shoulder gently held her back. Hermione turned, catching her friend’s eye. “Gin?” she said.

“In all seriousness,” Ginny said, “how did it go?”

Hermione glanced behind her and ensured the rest of the group had filed out of the kitchen. 

“The test was bizarre. I’m just crossing my fingers Croaker doesn’t show up in my fireplace anytime soon with another request. But after,” Hermione gave a little shrug, “it was good. Before, I wondered if the bond drew me to her, or if we were making it work out of survival. Now…I just want to be around her. I still feel that pull.”

“I know you don’t need my advice,” Ginny said, “so I’ll just say I’m really pleased for you. And maybe take it slow, yeah?”

“That still counts as advice,” Hermione grinned, laughing as Ginny poked her in the ribs.

“Do you think though,” Hermione paused and let Ginny search her face, “do you think the bond…it chose us?” 

Ginny shifted from foot to foot, as if caught off guard by Hermione’s earnestness. She shrugged.

“That’s a big question. The basement dwellers still haven’t figured it out, have they?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, not that I know of. Pansy said that Croaker had essentially taken over our case on his own. I don’t know, I think maybe I’m just romanticising the whole situation. Makes it easier to understand, I suppose.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Ginny said. “Would it matter either way?” 

“I don’t know, I …like the idea that it chose us.” Hermione shrugged. “You must think I’m mad with all of this.”

“Not any more than usual,” Ginny laughed.

The pair of them wandered back towards where the group had gathered. They were all doing their best to look inconspicuous, though Pansy caught Hermione’s gaze when she entered and smiled before turning back to Neville. Unsurprisingly, Neville had managed to wrangle Pansy into a conversation about the merits of using Floxglove in healing potions, while Luna chimed in with her own thoughts on the matter. Hermione felt her love for Pansy settle quietly between them as she moved to join the group. 

-

Pansy found that they fell into an easy routine over the next few weeks. Hermione started working on her research again and Pansy returned to work. They established an unspoken and perhaps tenuous rule that Hermione didn’t ask about Croaker and Pansy didn’t mention him either. In the evenings, Pansy would drop by Hermione’s, sometimes staying the night. On the weekends, Hermione showed Pansy a few of her favourite Muggle coffee shops to get writing done at and the best places to get watercolour paints, and Pansy dragged Hermione out in the evenings. Pansy realized that Hermione had even left a few of her shirts in her closet.

Things at work were a different story. In truth, she hadn’t faced any consequences after disappearing from work for three days. But when she quietly returned, Croaker was gone. Theo had mentioned he was travelling for a work lead, but nothing else. His letters stopped the morning she returned. 

She was put on an assignment with Theo and Holly. While she generally preferred working alone, their work on magical life extension at least interested her. It was a great deal of desk work, and the three of them were often surrounded by stacks of documents and ancient boxes coated with thick layers of dust. 

“Bullocks,” Theo muttered, and Pansy glanced up from the pages of scrawled handwriting in front of her. “Croaker was supposed to give me his file on alchemy stones before he left.” Theo sipped from his cup of already-cold tea, frustration etched in his brow. Pansy stretched her shoulders back, sore from a day of sitting. It was nearing the evening and she was looking forward to leaving. 

“And he didn’t say when he’d be back?” Pansy asked. 

“No,” Theo confirmed, scrubbing at his jaw, “not a word. I need that file, though.” 

Pansy chewed at the inside of her lip. “I might still have temporary access to his office, actually.” 

Theo grunted in disbelief. “Since when?”

“Before we left for Skye. I needed a file he had left on his desk, so he changed his wards to give me temporary access,” Pansy said.

“There’s no way you’d still be able to get in.” Theo shook his head, but a trace of a smile was evident.

“Don’t tell Holly where I went,” Pansy grinned, pushing her chair out from behind her and slipping from the room.

She had been in Croaker’s office a number of times before. Countless, it seemed. She trod the familiar path down the darkened hallway until it was in front of her. She pushed her hand against the door, holding her breath until it gave way and clicked open at her touch. It was surprising, but not shocking, that Croaker had forgotten to reset his wards. Little details often slipped his notice, which Pansy was thankful for this time. 

With a wave of her wand, antique gold-plated sconces lit up the room and she quickly shut the door behind her. The high-ceilinged walls were lined with heavy tomes, a number of curios perched between old volumes. Pansy ran her hand over the cold metal of the seventeenth-century magical telescope in the corner of the room—her favourite of Croaker’s odd collection—before making her way towards his desk. Much like his shelves, the desk was in a state of organized disarray. She bent over it, careful not to knock over the almost-empty teacup sitting near the edge. 

Her fingers flitted through dozens of files Croaker had left strewn across the long wooden desk, eyes scanning for the one Theo needed. 

“Here we go,” she muttered, pulling out the file labelled ‘alchemy stones’ in a scrawling script. Trying to flip it open, the corner of the parchment caught the edge of her thumb and sliced upwards.

“Shit,” she muttered, moving to press the cut between her lips. Her elbow knocked over the pile of files she had created, sending them scattering across the stone floor. Pansy groaned and dropped to her knees as she tried to shuffle the files back into some semblance of order. The sea of file names swam before her, though she found herself pausing on the title of one: Snakestones.

Pansy stilled, holding the file in her hands, palms suddenly cold. The file was thick and she itched to open it. Carefully, she turned the first page. The first few pages were ones she had already seen. Listed was all the information on how the stones had been acquired, preliminary investigations into their true origins, their purpose, etcetera. Next were Croaker’s personal notes, his heavy script filling page after page with his questions and theories. Her breathing evened out as she read over notes that were familiar to her. 

A folded page slipped from the centre of the file and drifted onto her lap. Pansy gently pressed it open, finding Millicent’s name written neatly at the top of the paper, right beside her own. Her grip tightened. Below their names were their birthdates, parentage, wand types, work records, and even information on their former relationship. Pansy stared, unable to find any meaning from it, but the parchment seemed to crackle beneath her fingers with hidden magic. Pansy shakily took out her wand, pointing it at the paper. 

“ _Aparecium_ ,” she breathed, watching in awe as the parchment seemed to curl inwards before flattening itself, inky lines emerging where none had been before. The lines linked her name with Millicent’s in a twisting knot. Halfway down the sheet, the form of a spell emerged. She had never seen it before, but its intent was scrawled beneath. It was meant to tap into the power of the stones, to imbue them with intentional magic. It was meant to initiate a soul tie.

The realization came not all at once but trickled into her consciousness until its truth threatened to overwhelm her. Croaker knew. _He knew_. 

Adrenaline coursed through her and Pansy’s hands started to shake. Her body felt like it was suspended above her, watching her hands struggle to pull out more papers, revealing their contents page by page. Finally, she shoved the papers back into the file and held it tightly to her chest. She forced herself to move slowly. She collected the rest of the files and deposited them back on the desk, closing the door to Croaker’s office. Pansy could feel her pulse in her throat as she walked, anger gathering solidly in the pit of her stomach. 

Theo was where she left him, though Holly was seated beside him. 

“Out,” she said, nodding her chin first towards Holly then the door. Holly stood, about to object, but the sight of Pansy stopped her. She shot Theo a wary glance and left the two of them alone in the room. Pansy pried the file from her grip and dropped it in front of Theo, damp hands palming through the papers until she found the one she wanted. 

“Pans?” Taking in Pansy’s unsteady gaze, he reached towards the paper she was holding out towards him. “What is this?” 

Pansy repeated the earlier charm, the hidden lines already gone. She heard his soft intake of breath.

“This was in the file?” Theo asked, incredulous. His finger traced the spell at the bottom and followed Croaker’s scratchings across the page. It seemed like hours to Pansy, but moments later, Theo was watching her with wide eyes. “Croaker did this? He tried to instigate the curse? Between…you and Millicent? This…no.”

Pansy could no longer hold her own weight and slumped down into the chair beside him. “It’s his writing, Theo,” she said. 

“But…it didn’t work?” Theo was scrambling, his mind racing to catch up to the information Pansy had shared. 

“Only half-worked, it appears,” Pansy added. “The curse was meant for me, Theo. He orchestrated this. And for what, his fucking _research?_ ” she spat.

“No,” Theo repeated, “he wouldn’t. Pansy, he wouldn’t.”

“Look at it, Theo!” Her voice rose steadily before she felt it break. “Look, T. He did this.”

“This is insane, Pansy. This is…illegal, at the least. You said yourself, it only half-worked. Maybe he didn’t initiate it?” Theo said.

“No, he meant for it to work. Just not with Hermione. There’s more.” Pansy pulled more folded pages from the file, words forming on the pages as she directed her wand towards them. She watched as Theo scanned through them in increasing dread. They were Croaker’s notes on the first incident. It appeared he was as equally shocked as the rest of the room that the curse was somehow triggered by Hermione’s touch. 

“He wasn’t going to tell you,” Theo concluded. “He was going to see it through, no matter what.”

Pansy was bent over in her chair, elbows digging into the tops of her knees, forehead cradled between her hands. She could hear Theo beside her, but she saw only Hermione. She knew, the minute she found the file, that she’d have to tell her. 

“Pansy…I’m sorry,” Theo murmured. 

“I have to go.” Pansy stood abruptly, knocking her chair out from behind her.

“Pansy, hold on, take a minute—” Theo tried to stop her as she gathered the papers back into the file, but she pushed his hand away.

“I need you to alert Harry about this, please. Tell him, okay?” Pansy waited until Theo agreed before turning to leave. She was plagued by the realization that she had just set something in motion that she was now unable to stop. 

-

Hermione squinted against the fading light, brush in hand, another pushed through her hair. She hadn’t painted in months, but the desire gripped her that night strongly enough that she gave in. It was the meadow behind her home, but how she remembered it in the spring. She painted broad strokes for the soft leaves of wild garlic, the bright spots of white daisies, the gentle sloping petals of harebells. She added a few tall splashes of blue for cornflowers, thinking of Pansy. 

As she painted in the last remaining details, filling in soft shadows, she felt the wards of her home shift to let Pansy in. 

“I’m in the side room!” Hermione called, excited to show Pansy what she had created.

The first thought that struck Hermione when Pansy stood at the door was how empty her eyes looked. Hollow, almost. She searched her face, forcing down the fear that began to steadily rise.

“Hermione,” Pansy started, her voice impossibly soft, “I need to show you something. Can you…” she glanced around the room, “sit?” 

Hermione fell back onto her chair, pushing out a second from behind her desk. Pansy sat in front of her. She looked shaky, doing her best to compose herself. Hermione could tell she had been running her hands through her hair.

“I found something today, in Croaker’s office.” The file materialized in her lap. Papers dropped from its hold, finding their way into Hermione’s hands.

“Before – before I show you, I want you to know that…this shouldn’t – it doesn’t change anything.” Pansy managed.

“Pansy, what’s going on?” Hermione asked, unable to hide the alarm in her voice.

“It’s Croaker.”

“Did he…is he okay? Did something happen to him?” Hermione tried.

“No, I mean, I don’t know where he is actually, but no,” Pansy said.

“This is about the bond then?” Hermione prompted.

“Yeah, it’s…shit. Yes, it’s about the bond.”

“Merlin, Pansy, what is it? Are _you_ okay?” 

Pansy drew a deep breath, her words spilling from her faster than Hermione could hear. “It’s Croaker. The bond. The curse. All of it. He knew the stones had dark magic in them, he instigated the curse. For me, though. For Millicent too.”

“Hold on, wait, Croaker manufactured the curse so it would response to you and _Millicent?_ ” Hermione reeled with the discovery, hands reaching down to grip the edge of her seat. She heard Pansy repeat a quiet charm and stared down in horror at the pages in front of her. She took a minute to dig through them in disbelief.

“No bloody way, that fucking _snake_ ,” she said. When her eyes found Pansy’s again, she watched as Pansy struggled to speak, her voice thick with grief. 

It felt like the floor had fallen out from under them. Hermione could barely get a grip on the emotions hammering at her.

“Croaker, he did all of this?” she marvelled. “All of it? All the rubbish about bonds, about soul ties, it was just tampered with dark magic in the end, wasn’t it? It just reacted with the wrong person. A Department of Mysteries experiment gone wrong. That’s how I fit into this.” 

Pansy reached for her and Hermione felt herself pull away. She saw the hurt in Pansy’s eyes, found herself unable to reach back. 

“It’s evil, Pansy. He’s evil.”

“He’s not…Hermione, he just…you were never supposed to get involved in this,” Pansy pleaded.

“No, but he was still wrong, Pansy. How are you defending him right now? He put you through this. He put _us_ through this! You have to…you can’t go back there.” 

“I’m not defending him, this is just as hard for me, he’s been my only—" Pansy tried, but Hermione cut through her plea.

“I thought—I thought—I’m _such_ an idiot. I thought it _chose_ us, Pansy. But it didn’t. Croaker did.” 

Pansy gazed back in silence, tears gathering and sliding down past her jaw. Hermione had never seen her break like this. A quiet emptiness bloomed between them as they held each other’s gaze, unsure what this meant.


	24. Quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, this is the penultimate chapter and the next will be the epilogue. 
> 
> I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to comment, leave a kudos, or recommend this story to someone. This fic has absolutely been a labour of love and I'm so thankful to everyone who has followed along. Your kind words have truly kept me writing. It's bizarre to think I started this last autumn (pre-covid, can you even imagine?) and now I'm nearing the end. It's been a tough year for me as I imagine it has been for so many of us. If you're reading this currently, I hope you're doing okay out there. If you stumble across this in five years (also wild to imagine) I hope you're doing better. Love to you all and as always, I'm on tumblr at glitterslytherin if you ever want to chat about fics.
> 
> one last thing - while writing this chapter I listened to Phoebe Bridgers’ “I Know the End,” Ajimal’s “It’s Real,” and Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy’s “The Glow Pt. 3.” The last scene was written to Angel Olsen's "What It Is (What it Is)."

It ended with silence. It stretched between them until it felt almost too dense to breach. Eventually, Pansy pulled Hermione’s hand into hers and Hermione let it lay there. She felt Pansy’s fingers against her palm, felt the uncertain shaking of her hand. When she finally stood, Pansy didn’t move. She waited silently as Hermione made copies of Croaker’s notes. Hermione knew she wanted to say something else. She could sense Pansy’s anxiety on the edge of her tongue. 

As she worked, Hermione fought the urge to smooth things over. A part of her wanted to play the mediator, but she couldn’t bring herself to try. Instead, the pages filled her vision, Millicent Bulstrode’s name written tidily beside Pansy’s, the elaborate spell staring mockingly back at her. 

“It was the incantation, by the way,” she murmured. Pansy watched her, confused.

“He didn’t properly construct the incantation. The structure of his Latin was off. He linked the curse successfully to you, but not Millicent. It latched onto the next woman who touched it.”

Pansy nodded, trying not to register the surprise on her face. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”

Hermione could barely handle the gentleness in her voice. She wished Pansy would yell, smash something, anything. The softness made it worse. Instead, they hugged, tight but stiff. They murmured a few goodbyes, a ‘I’ll check on you soon’ from Pansy, ‘I just need a few days,’ from Hermione, and Pansy was gone. Hermione still felt the warmth of her chest against hers and swallowed against the tightness in her throat. 

She made a space for herself on her rug and spread out the notes in front of her, cocooning herself in the safety of parchment. Amidst the storm in her head, the isolation made her feel safe. She forced herself to read Croaker’s notes through the fog. It was all there, laid out for her in detailed writing. Croaker was painstaking in his research, and she found his records of their initial meeting, read about the glow that circled their hands when they first touched, the relief he saw on their faces. She read for hours, seeing her behaviour—her life—through Croaker’s analytical eyes. It felt unreal, pushing her to disconnect from what she read.

He had manufactured so much of it. If he wasn’t able to control how the initial curse reacted, he made sure to control just about everything else. Hermione read about him putting Millicent on the case, making sure the three of them would be alone. He wanted to see how Pansy and Hermione reacted to her presence, and his notes on the outcome were detailed. Their living conditions, their work environment, even their trip to Skye. Croaker’s invisible hand pushed and pulled at them and he recorded every instance of how they reacted to the bond and how it affected their magic. 

Hours later, when Hermione was satisfied that she could recall the detail of every page when her eyes closed, she laid back against the rug and fell into a disturbed sleep. 

-

It was nearly morning when Pansy stumbled back to her flat. After leaving Hermione’s, she had found the darkest and grimiest Muggle pub she possibly could and drank until the sharpness in her chest blurred and ebbed into a dull ache. She thought about finding Theo but didn’t know if she could endure seeing his worried and kind face. She wanted anonymity – wanted to melt into a worn leather seat and become another forlorn face in the back of the pub. Pansy left only when she was forced to, the soles of her boots sticking to the floorboards as she walked. 

She apparated home after finding a quiet and empty alleyway to do so, knowing full well it was daft and a little dangerous. Before her feet even hit ground, she knew something was off. She sensed a presence in her home as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. The figure on her sofa slowly came into view.

“How’d you get in?” She dumped her bag on the floor with a thud, hand against the wall. 

“Same way you found yourself in my office, I suppose,” Croaker replied, his voice more kind than scornful. “Your wards recognized my magic, Pansy.”

“Mm, guess we’re even then.” Pansy bent down and rummaged through her bag, pulling out the file and tossing it towards where Croaker sat. Anger and disbelief hardened in her chest.

“Where’ve you been, anyways?” She dropped into the armchair opposite him. “Off trying to ruin another life, or a nice a holiday maybe? Did Harry find you, alert you to trouble with your latest work endeavour?”

Croaker cleared his throat, clearly eyeing Pansy’s disgruntled appearance. She stared back at him defiantly, hating the way he looked in her home, the shine of his robes, the bags under his eyes. 

“Pansy, please understand I never intended for this—”

“To what? Work? You did,” she pointed out, her words slurring only slightly at the end. “Poor spell though, wasn’t it? Couldn’t quite get it right.”

“I owe you an explanation, I admit. I never imagined the ramifications of the spell to be so…impactful. It was meant to be controlled,” Croaker said. 

“Mm, yeah, I read that in your notes. Quite the surprise Hermione was thrown into the mix. Made it more interesting for you though, didn’t it? You seemed excited when you wrote about it. Tell me, did Millicent know?” Pansy said, barely hiding the bitterness in her voice. 

“Ms. Granger certainly heightened the stakes of the experiment, yes. I only involved Millicent as far as she was useful to the spell. She wasn’t aware of her initial involvement, and still isn’t, unless Potter has contacted her as well. You must know, my intentions were never to harm you, Pansy.”

Pansy let out a sharp laugh, messily pushing dark strands from her face. “You were going to force me into a soul bond with an ex, someone I still _worked_ with, to be clear.”

Croaker’s eyes flashed and his tone shifted imperceptibly. “Ah, yes, but I knew you’d figure out how to break it. And you did, Pansy. Remarkable, truly. You exceeded any expectation I had of you. The implications of the bond have been utterly fascinating to observe. Surely, you see the benefit of—”

Pansy held her hand up, thankful Croaker quieted. Her head was thudding unevenly from drink and she wanted, more than anything, for him to leave. She struggled with her need for answers and her desire for sleep. 

Croaker paused before speaking again, his voice low and excited. “Your sacrifice, Pansy, will have a far-reaching impact. To tap into the power of ancient artefacts, the possibility of their deep magic impacting the very fabric of magical cores, it’s like nothing we’ve seen before.”

Pansy waited for him to finish. A few months ago, his words would have stirred something in her: excitement, the thrill of working harder, the drive to push herself deeper into her research. For years she coveted his approval, lapping at his words of praise. Even now, a part of her longed for it. The small girl in her wanted nothing more than to be told she had done what was needed of her. 

“Can I ask why you chose me?” Pansy leaned forward, determined to steer the conversation where she wanted it. But she couldn’t hide the break in her voice. 

“It was simply a matter of necessity, really. I could foreseeably contain the research to my own department among a pair that had already formed a bond of sorts,” Croaker explained. 

“Was that really it,” Pansy mused, “or did I make it too easy for you? I don’t know the details, whether it was because you knew I would do whatever you wanted unquestioningly, or if you thought my own emotional devastation made me a good candidate for being fucked with, or if you just wanted a laugh—”

Croaker balked, shaking his head. Pansy pushed on.

"But I know this. Before, I would have done anything for you. Anything. You were like a dad to me. And I’m sorry—I’m sorry to lose you. You know? I’ve lost one, I didn’t think I’d lose another.”

“Pansy…” 

She thought she heard a hint of regret in his voice. 

“Get out of my house,” Pansy said. The last of her energy dissipated as he stood, robes falling heavily to the floor. He hesitated, as if he meant to speak, before he disappeared.

-

Hermione crawled to bed by midafternoon. Her joints protested from a night spent on the floor, and she stretched uncomfortably before curling between her pillows. No one was expecting her anywhere, and she wasn’t expecting anyone in return. She wrapped herself in fraying quilts and slipped in and out of sleep, warmed by the unexpected rays of early winter’s sun. 

She dreamt of Skye. She felt the steady rain against her coat, smelt the subtle rot of water-laden fields, saw the jagged and broken landscape stretch before her. When she woke again, the hazy light of dusk filling her room, she knew where she had to go.

-

Hermione stood on the platform at King’s Cross that morning, waiting to board and find her seat. She listened to the steady rumbling beneath her feet as she wondered what Ginny knew, if Harry had told her, or if they’d find the quick note she left on her kitchen counter in case they came looking for her again. She closed her wards the night before when Harry tried to pass through, unsure if she could bear either his sympathy or his plans to move forward. She wanted to do this first.

The nine hours it took to get from London to Fort William went by in a blur. It had been years since she had taken such a long train ride, but the idea of taking a portkey or apparating sent her stomach turning. Plus, this gave her more room to think. By the time she picked up the old car at the rental, it was nearing evening. It took her almost twice as long as it should have as she winded slowly through the quiet roads to finish the journey back to Skye.

The shop was dimly lit against the blackness of the hillside at night. She found herself suddenly unsure of her presence in front of the shop, but something about her last meeting with Malcolm drew her back. She felt like she could confide in him. Perhaps it was his age, or his knowledge of the stones, but she felt driven to return. After her dream, the notion that she had to see him planted itself firmly in her chest and led her with an urgency back to the sloping greens of the island. 

Hermione parked as close as she could to the shop. Determination overrode her nerves and she pushed herself forward and through the front door. 

“Oi! We’re not open, you know!” The woman at the front called to her as Hermione rushed past and down a long aisle to the back of the shop. 

“I’ll just be a moment!” she said, hoping that Malcolm would be tucked away in his office still. When she reached his door she knocked quickly, listening for a noise of recognition on the other side. 

“Mr. Lusk? Malcolm?” An expectant face greeted her on the other side, and he waved her in. She slipped through the door and into the warm room, a small fire crackling in the hearth. 

“Ah, snuck past Elsie, I see.” He nodded towards the seat across from his desk, rounded wire glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m terribly sorry to bother you at this hour, but I’ve just come up from London today,” Hermione explained, smoothing down her coat. The oil lamp on his desk flickered as she spoke, its long wick drawing shadows and casting them into relief across the room. 

“Must be important business then. You’re one the folks who work for Mr. Shelton, if memory serves.” 

“Yes, that’s right,” Hermione confirmed, having almost forgotten their cover story from before, “I’ve come about the stones.”

“Again,” Malcolm stated. Caught off guard, Hermione hesitated before giving a small nod.

“Yes, again. The, erm, the curse, that is, we figured out how to end it,” she said. 

“Aye, I figured,” Malcolm grinned, and Hermione stared at him in open confusion.

“How?”

“You’re alone, aren’t yeh? The other girl would be here with you if you hadn’t,” he said.

“Right, of course.” Hermione cleared her throat as Malcolm peered back at her patiently. “Sorry, I…I feel a little silly coming all this way. I just thought you might want to know that the curse in the stones was tampered with. Or crafted, I guess. Not a very good curse, in my opinion, it actually didn’t fully work but,” she caught herself trailing and tried to slow down, “but I remember you saying the stones revealed things. Soul magic, or something like that. I thought you might want to know that it was a curse after all.”

Malcolm sat back in his chair and regarded Hermione thoughtfully. “Yeh came all this way just to tell me that?”

“Erm, yes, I suppose I did,” Hermione said.

“But yeh said yourself the curse didn’t work,” he prompted.

“Well, no, it didn’t work as intended. It wasn’t meant for me. Wrong place, wrong time sort of thing,” she said.

“But it found you,” he clarified.

“No, I found it, if anything,” Hermione corrected. “Here, look.” Against her better judgement, she pulled the copies of Croaker’s notes out of her bag and laid them in front of Malcolm. He adjusted his glasses and leaned forward, taking the notes into his hands carefully. Hermione tried to stop her foot from bouncing against the stone floor as Malcolm hummed while he read through each page. 

“Quite the elaborate set up here,” he mused. 

“Exactly, and look at this,” she bent forward and tapped at the incantation Croaker had constructed, “see?” 

“Aye, I see,” he nodded, “but how sure can yeh be that the crafted curse was effective at all? Seeing as it didn’t work,” he asked, and Hermione bristled at the question. 

“Well…I…it half-worked. There’s no deeper magic going on, is what I’m trying to say. What exactly are _you_ trying to say?” Hermione pressed. Malcolm shrugged as he laid the papers back down. 

“I told yeh the stones reveal. They also _seek_. Do yeh think they sensed something in you both? A desire, a willingness?” he said. “Seeing as yeh can’t prove the spell worked either way.” 

“I don’t think so. I mean, they couldn’t have,” Hermione explained while Malcolm pressed his lips together in thought. 

“And why not?”

Hermione sat silenced for a moment, a hundred theories on the tip of her tongue, none of them fitting. She didn’t know.

“You got caught up, didn’t yet? It’s a heavy magic the stones carry,” Malcolm said. 

“Yeah, I knew…I mean I suspected it was dark magic. But near the end, I wondered if it was more. I guess I also came to you hoping for more answers. Not sure what for, though.”

“You sought me out, miss. I think that should tell yeh something,” he suggested. 

“Please, before I go, just tell me what else you might know about the stones. I need…a reassurance, anything.” Hermione dug her nails into the soft skin of her palm as she spoke. 

“Ah, the old know and the young suspect,” Malcolm chuckled. “Are yeh happier, miss, having found out what you know?”

“No,” Hermione murmured.

“And yeh care about this girl, the tall lass?”

Hermione managed a soft laugh, shaking her head. “More than anything.”

“Then yeh know all you need to know. Otherwise, you could spend a lifetime wondering, biting your own tail just to figure it out.”

“So that’s it?” Hermione sighed. “I just…leave it be?”

“That’s up to you,” Malcolm shrugged, “but yeh don’t strike me as the type to let magic dictate your life. It’s your choice now.” 

“Thank you,” Hermione murmured, meeting Malcolm’s gaze, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled in return.

“Now, miss, the hour is late, and I’ve got work to attend to. Otherwise we could blether on here till morning, I’m sure.”

“Of course.” Hermione stood, quickly tucking the papers back into her bag and straightening up. “Thank you though, truly.” She moved towards Malcolm before he took a step back. 

“No no, there’ll be none of that.” He held up his hands to deflect her hug and Hermione laughed, brushing at her eyes.

“Right, sorry. Not sure what came over me. Thank you again.” 

“You’re welcome, miss, and apologise to Elsie on your way out! Otherwise she’ll be having my head over this,” he called, her hand on the door. 

“I will, thank you!” 

-

Pansy, by some miracle, made it to work the next morning. She wasn’t sure where else to go. She woke, head pounding, and pulled on her uniform. She thought of Croaker from the moment her eyes opened. She thought of him sitting on her sofa, voice shaking from excitement before it changed to regret. She thought of Hermione too, but Croaker dominated her vision. 

There was no sign of Theo in the hallways, no sign of him in his office. The hallways of the department were deceptively quiet, and Pansy traipsed towards her own desk, thankful for the darkness. A note from Harry was spellotaped to the centre of her workspace and stared down at it before turning on her heel and making her way towards the office of the head of the DMLE.

“Good gods, Pansy,” Theo gasped as Pansy announced herself by knocking her knuckles against the wooden doorframe. Four sets of eyes turned to her in surprise as she joined the semi-circle around Harry’s desk. She nodded towards Harry and Theo before expressing a quick good morning to the two Wizengamot members standing to her right. They looked familiar, maybe Hawksworth and Windmere or something like that. 

“Pansy,” Harry sighed, “I didn’t expect to see you here today – you didn’t have to come in. But I suppose better to fill you in now that you’re here. Croaker was located last night and advised of what came to light. As of this morning, his position at the Ministry has been temporarily suspended, pending a full investigation and possible trial.”

“A possible trial?” Pansy asked, turning to Theo. Despite her exhaustion, she felt a wave of dread wash over her. 

“I’m sorry, Pans,” Theo said. “It’s out of our hands now.”

“Mr. Nott is quite correct, Ms. Parkinson,” the one she thought was Hawksworth added, “protocol must be followed, and Unspeakable Croaker will answer for the charge of endangering the life of both a Ministry employee and a citizen, as well as tampering with dark artefacts with ill intent.” 

“What can I do?” Pansy said.

“Nothing at the moment,” Harry said. “Croaker’s office is being searched for evidence, and we’re interviewing Bulstrode to find out the level of her involvement in this.”

“She’s not involved,” Pansy added, “I asked Croaker about it last night.” Harry and Theo shared a look of alarm.

“You saw Croaker last night?” Harry asked.

“He showed up in my sitting room, of all places,” she said.

Harry groaned. “Merlin, I didn’t think we’d need someone to mind him. I’ll follow up on this. Alright, that’s all we have for now. Elena, Garrett, thank you for meeting on such short notice.” He nodded towards the two Wizengamot members who left soon after with a rustle of their long robes.

Pansy felt Theo’s hand grasp gently on the back of her arm as he steered her out from Harry’s office.

“I can’t just go home, T,” Pansy whispered. She had come to work to escape the emptiness of her flat. Being at the Ministry gave her direction, and she couldn’t stand the thought of sitting alone at home.

“Come to mine,” Theo instructed. “We can grab a pint. Hair of the dog, yeah?”

Pansy laughed drily. “How’d you know?”

“You look like shit, Pans. And I say that with nothing but love.”

Pansy spent the rest of the day with Theo, thankful for his company. They sat out on his back deck, thick blankets layered over their laps, a pint in one hand and a mug of steaming tea in the other. Redwings and blackcap warblers perched on the sparse branches of the lone pear tree in his garden. They watched the birds swoop and dip over the small yard, hedged in by a tall and crumbling stone fence. 

“Do you know what the worst part is?” Pansy spoke into the comfortable silence, and Theo shifted his glance towards her. “I’ll miss him. I just will.”

Theo exhaled softly. “I’ll miss him too.”

“Do you think he meant for it to go this far?” she asked.

Theo shook his head. “I don’t know. I think…I think he lost himself in his work. He let it consume his life. It left no room for anything else. He should have put your well-being first – that should have been his first priority.”

Pansy made a small noise in agreement. “I should have seen the signs though. I was just as absorbed. I think that’s why he chose me, and Millicent too.”

“Maybe,” Theo shrugged, “but that doesn’t mean you deserved any of it. I didn’t suspect anything either.”

Pansy nodded and stared out at the garden, frost beginning to melt as the sun rose steadily above. 

“It’ll be different now,” she murmured. Theo reached over and gripped her hand.

“It will be. But I’m not going anywhere. We’ll be alright.”

“What about Hermione?” Pansy asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt his grip tighten.

“I don’t know, Pansy. But I know that you get to decide how you move forward,” he said. She shifted in her chair until she faced him.

“I love her, T,” she admitted, voice small. The realization threatened to engulf her.

“I know, Pans,” Theo smiled gently. “I think it’s time you told her.”

-

Hermione sat in the car a little longer. It had been almost 49 hours since Pansy found her in her side room, papers in hand. Stiff from a full day of driving and having slept in the rental car the night before, she stretched her neck and continued staring at Pansy’s front door. She was parked just beside her flat, headlights still on. This was it.

Moments later, she knocked on Pansy’s door. Waited a minute. Knocked again. Already nervous, she hugged her long wool coat tighter around her body. The temperature hovered a few degrees above zero and she could see her breath in front of her. She turned her back to the door and gazed down the street, unsure what to do. She hadn’t thought about Pansy not being home. She had pictured nothing else but this moment on the long drive back from Skye. Leaning against the door, Hermione closed her eyes and gave herself a minute to calm down. She pulled deep breaths in and out, debating if she should check at Harry and Draco’s next, or maybe Theo’s. 

“Granger?”

Hermione turned at hearing her name, eyes flicking open, a soft puff of breath escaping her lips. 

“Pansy? What—what’re you doing out here?”

“I…walked – from Draco’s. Did you…did you drive here?” Pansy looked from Hermione to the parked car in surprise.

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded, almost breathless, “I um, had a bit of distance to go.”

Pansy closed the space between them, facing Hermione under her stoop. Hermione quickly straightened up. She could sense Pansy’s surprise. Pansy’s throat tensed as she swallowed, the wind catching the ends of her hair and dusting it across her jaw. Hermione longed to reach out.

“I—” Hermione started, “I actually went to Skye, to visit Malcolm Lusk, and I—”

“You were in Skye?” 

“Yes, and I feel like I found a lot of clarity. About this, about us,” she said. She ran through the practiced confession in her head. 

“Hermione, can I just—”

“Hold on, let me get this out,” Hermione interrupted. 

“I love you,” Pansy stated, before Hermione could continue, “and everything else doesn’t matter. None of it. Croaker, the bond, nothing.”

Hermione paused in surprise. Laughter caught in her chest as she wiped gathering tears from the corners of her eyes. She folded into Pansy’s arms and pressed against the chill that hung from Pansy’s clothes. Pansy held her close, lips nearly blue from the cold pressing against Hermione’s temple. 

“You silly git,” Hermione whispered, script forgotten, “I could never leave. I’m here. And I love you too.” 

Warmth spread through her chest as Pansy smiled, burying her face against the soft dark curls that fell around Hermione’s neck. “Hermione, I’m yours,” she breathed, “Merlin, I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.” 

Hermione turned her face, warm cheek now pressed against cool, and held Pansy close to her. 

“My love,” she murmured, testing the unfamiliar words on her tongue. Pansy carefully stroked a hand down Hermione’s back in response. “My love,” she repeated, lips catching Pansy’s. It was gentle, and easy, and soft.

A lone car rumbled past them on the road, its lights briefly illuminating the pair standing tucked into the doorway. They disappeared a moment later as a faint glow flicked on in Pansy’s front hallway. The wind that hummed quietly behind the closed door calmed, leaving the street blanketed in quiet once more.


	25. End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god y'all I actually finished this beast (am I now going to go read some Mary Oliver poems and gently weep into the pages now that I can no longer wander over to my laptop every two weeks and fervently write about these two idiots embarking on their journey to find each other? probs)
> 
> ps - the epilogue is *entirely* fluff. enjoy and be safe and I love you all.

-Epilogue-

**Summer 2007**

“It’s warmer than I imagined,” Luna smiled as she dug her toes into the sand.

“Still can’t believe you’ve never been to Cornwall, Lunes,” Ginny called, already wading into the water.

Hermione hung back, staring out at the blue water lapping and furling around the cove of rocks surrounding them. They had taken the coast path in Lansallos, past the little white church nestled at the bottom of the road, walking under tall and stooped trees hiding them from the sun.

“It’s a beautiful spot, Pansy,” Hermione remarked. “You came here growing up?”

Pansy nodded, holding down her sunhat against the wind while the breeze toyed at the hem of her white blouse. She turned to watch Ginny and Luna shoulder-deep in the water, the sound of their laughter and shouts masked by the crash and hum of the waves. 

“Mum took me here all the time when I was little,” Pansy said. “It was always quiet, had the whole cove to ourselves. We’d stop by the little bakery we passed on the way in and she’d let me pick anything I wanted. I looked forward to it every summer. A whole day together, just her and I.”

“I can see why,” Hermione said, “it’s perfect.” She caught Pansy’s nod and the soft clearing of her throat, shifting her gaze to watch her. Hermione knew most of her quirks now, noticed when she was nervous, watched for the stiffening of her back or the tell-tale sign of her hands running through her hair.

“Alright, Pansy?” she prodded.

“I wanted to tell you about something, actually,” Pansy started. “I’ve been…sitting on this for a few weeks. My mum actually sent me an owl.”

Hermione hid the surprise in her eyes, instead gently coaxing Pansy on with a squeeze of her hand.

Pansy steadied herself before starting. “I didn’t expect to hear from her again, I guess. It was…an apology of sorts. For her behaviour when I saw her last year, for the things she said.”

“Well that certainly is…unexpected,” Hermione managed. 

“I know,” Pansy sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. It was just a lot. A day after, Draco told me he had been visiting with her. Theo too, lately. He didn’t tell me about it at the time, but Theo and Harry knew. Theo said he’d managed to reach her, or something like that. I mean if anyone was going to knock some sense into her, it was Draco.”

Hermione nodded, affection and love for her boys swelling in her chest while concern for Pansy clouded her gaze. She instantly remembered a day a few weeks back when Pansy came home from work so tightly wound she paced their kitchen for hours. Her mind spun. Draco had visited Pansy’s mum, and Harry knew, but didn’t tell her? It sounded like some ridiculous plan Harry had thought up in the first place. She reminded herself to corner Harry the moment they returned home. But despite her frustration, she couldn’t help but feel love for the stupid, soft-hearted boys that snuck around their backs in order to bring Pansy some relief. 

“They shouldn’t have done it,” Pansy added, almost like an afterthought. 

“And where are you in all of this, Pansy?” Hermione asked softly.

“I don’t know. It feels like too much too soon. I don’t…I don’t trust her. She asked to meet you, you know,” Pansy groaned, pressing the heel of her palm against her eyes. “I don’t think I can, Hermione. I closed that door when I left. I swore I’d protect you from her.”

Hermione slipped her hand back into Pansy’s. “You don’t have to protect me, love. And you certainly don’t have to decide now. Take it a day at a time instead. Maybe start with a letter back if you want. Or leave it. You don’t owe her anything, this is about you now. But I’ll be here with you, every step of the way.”

“I know,” Pansy said, voice tight. They stood shoulder to shoulder for a few quiet moments, Hermione absorbing the weight of the news Pansy shared. She was thankful Pansy had told her, grateful above all that Pansy was opening up more and more, sharing those sides of herself that Hermione longed to see.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Hermione murmured. 

“I wanted to share it with you,” Pansy admitted quietly. “Maybe it can be ours now, yeah?”

Hermione smiled, pushing down the sudden tightness in her throat. 

“Plus,” Pansy turned, a smirk pulling at her lips, “now Luna finally gets that holiday we promised.”

Hermione laughed just as Ginny started to emerge from the water, shouting threats to drag them in if they didn’t join them. Hermione and Pansy conceded, dropping their bags and tucking hats under towels in case they blew away. They raced into the water together, hands clasped, feet hot against the sand.

**Autumn 2007**

Pansy woke with a muted gasp, her fists bunching into soft sheets. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she tried to control her ragged breaths.

“I’m here, love,” Hermione yawned, eyes half-lidded against the bright August sun streaming through their drapes. Her hand skated over Pansy’s jaw before landing on her chest. Pansy’s chest rose and fell for a few quiet moments with Hermione’s palm flat against her skin, pebbles of sweat beading across thin scars.

“You’re alright,” Hermione whispered. 

Pansy sunk back into her pillow. The pad of her thumb instinctively reached to touch the edge of her mouth, pulling away to check for red. She stared at her fingers, absent from blood, while her pulse jerked and skidded back towards a normal rate. Hermione’s hand found its way back to her face, cupping her cheek gently.

“Pansy?” 

She nodded into Hermione’s hand, working to find her voice. As she blinked into the filtered brightness of their room, the sharp intensity of her dream blurred around the edges. There had been pitch darkness and she was crawling down a hole with no light at the end, arms pinned to her side. Roots sickly with age scratched her face. She had seen Hermione, seen her face turn, mouth caught in a shout. Her own hands gripped Hermione’s, yanking open her palm. They shifted into Croaker’s, and she tried to jerk back, a fierce grip suddenly pushing her forward.

“You’re here now,” Hermione hummed as she stroked through Pansy’s hair. Pansy exhaled, the grip of her father’s hands on her shoulders fading with Hermione’s soft murmurs. 

“I’m good,” Pansy said, voice rough in her throat. 

“Alright,” Hermione shifted against the bed, “another hour?”

Pansy fitted herself against Hermione’s back, tugging the quilt around her waists. She tried to force any thoughts of Croaker’s upcoming trial from her mind, instead pressing her face into the crook between Hermione’s neck and shoulder and easing into the warmth of her skin. Her arm wove carefully overtop. Hermione found her hand, tucking it close to her chest. Pansy silently ran her mantra through her head as she drifted back into sleep. She was safe, she was with Hermione, she was home.

 **Spring 2008**

Pansy peered across the field, watching as Hermione straightened in the distance and waved. She was elbow deep in dirt with soil-covered hands pushing up the sleeves of her jumper. Pansy smiled at the sight of her hair piled high on her head, a few tight curls escaping and tumbling down her neck.

“I hate it too, Pans,” Draco murmured from behind her. 

“And how exactly do you get out of planting?” she asked, turning to Draco.

“I provide the nosh, no one asks questions,” he shrugged. “It keeps me far from any talk of manure.” 

It had been a year and a half of learning all the strange holidays and traditions Hermione kept. Pansy almost didn’t believe Luna when she breathlessly explained the importance of their spring equinox planting day, and yet here she was, feet firmly in wellies up to her calves. 

“Pansy!” Luna sung, “look!” She was pointing excitedly to the large planter box in front of her, a white and dark blue flower in hand. “We’re planting pansies!”

“Good gods,” Pansy groaned, feeling Draco lightly patting her shoulder.

“Welcome to the family indeed, Pans. You’ve got your very own flower box,” he laughed.

“Ginny put her up to this,” Pansy surmised, taking in the sight of Harry stifling his laughter beside Luna.

“Sodding off as usual, you two?” Ginny came up behind them, worn dungarees pulled over an old shirt. 

“Just admiring the day’s work, Gin,” Draco responded, gesturing to the half-sown field in front of them. 

Ginny firmly planted her hand on Pansy’s back, gently pushing her forward. “Come on, then, conditions are perfect and we’ve got parsnips and broad beans to plant.”

Pansy spent the next hour between Hermione and Ginny, loosening soil with a rusted trowel. Her back had started to protest but she found herself caught up in the easy chatter around her. She wondered how she lucked out of not participating last year but realized she didn’t mind the odd work. She stopped to watch Hermione wipe against her brow, behind her the rows of tulips planted last fall bending under the weight of their blooms. 

“Pansy,” Neville strode towards her, a wriggling little creature held in his gloved hand, “you might be able to help me relocate some of the garden gnomes actually—”

“Over my dead body, Longbottom,” Pansy cut in.

“They’re really not bad you know, actually a bit sweet when you—" Neville tried.

“Neville, if you approach me again with that thing in your hands, I’m going to blast it across the field,” she warned. 

Neville paused in surprise as Ginny burst into laughter, Harry sighing and wiping his hands on his shirt beside them. “I’m on it, Neville, let’s give it a go.”

“You’re really warming up to him, aren’t you,” Hermione chuckled, tossing down her shovel and squeezing Pansy around the waist as Harry marched off across the field with Neville. 

“The things I do for you,” Pansy said, chuckling at Hermione’s loud scoff.

“Oh please, there’s nothing more peaceful than planting. The last Slytherin pub night almost killed me,” she pointed out, elbow leaning against her shovel. 

“Mm, but it didn’t, did it? Plus, your rendition of the Weird Sisters at the end of the night was particularly good,” Pansy teased. 

“Merlin, you’ll never let me forget about that, will you?”

“Truly, never heard ‘This is the Night’ sung with such passion. How’d it go again?” Pansy picked up the hand trowel, gripping the handle under her chin. _“When all is dark, and there’s no light, lost in the deepest star of night—”_ she sung, doing her best to impersonate a rather indisposed Hermione.

“Pansy!” Hermione gasped, choking on her laughter, “I swear to Merlin I will douse you with dirt if you don’t stop.”

_“Your hands are shaking baby, you ain’t been sleeping lately—”_

Hermione scooped up a handful of dirt, tossing it towards her as Pansy ducked out of the way, laughing as it landed on an unsuspecting Ginny. Ginny blinked against the splatter of dirt crumbling from her face, hand rubbing against her nose.

“No, no, no!” Neville rushed over, but it was too late, Ginny’s wand already in hand, a spray of soil swishing through the air. Hermione’s shriek could be heard across the field as Pansy did her best to avoid the newly planted carrots as she dove out of the way of Ginny’s wrath, laughing as Luna cheered them on.

**Summer 2009**

“We have to go!” Hermione called, racing down the stairs, dress floating behind her. 

“Hold on,” Pansy reached out a hand, catching her at the bottom of the stairs, arm circling around her waist. She rubbed the line of blue paint from Hermione’s cheek before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Hermione reached up and cradled her cheek in her palm, lips enclosing hers. She pulled back just as quickly, grinning up at her.

“Nice seeing you in some colour,” Hermione teased. Pansy’s eyes shot upwards, arms folding easily in front of her. Hermione could tell she liked what Draco had chosen for her, the muted green silk dress falling easily from her shoulders, brushing against her waist, close-fitted but effortless. 

“Thoughts on mine?” Hermione asked, doing a quick spin to show Pansy her dress.

She watched as Pansy drank her in. Pansy stepped forward, running her fingers through the soft gold fabric. Her fingers brushed against thigh and Hermione’s laugh caught high in her throat. 

“You like it?” she asked.

“Mm,” Pansy confirmed. 

A deep red started to flush Hermione’s neck. “I’m shocked Harry had the wherewithal to pick something that suited me so well, actually.” She rubbed the silk and stared down at the lightweight gown that he had sent over the night before. 

“A marvel, really,” Pansy agreed, hand gently trailing up to her hip, thumb stretched across her stomach. Hermione was keenly aware of the feel of her hands, warm against the silk.

“Gin and Luna will be here any minute,” Hermione reminded her, already melting into her touch.

“Mm, I think we have a few,” Pansy replied, resting her lips against the curve in Hermione’s cheek. Hermione distantly realized that Pansy had slowly crowded her against the wall, fingers around her wrist, other hand pulling her close. 

“You look good, Granger,” Pansy whispered. Hermione’s breath hitched.

“Going to kiss me already?” she asked softly. Pansy’s mouth was on her a second later, lips still sensitive and flush from that morning. Hermione breathed into her, hungry. Her mouth slipped along hers, teeth pulling gently at her bottom lip, hips arching into hers. She could feel Pansy’s pulse beneath the hand on her neck, pulling her face down closer. Warmth pooled inside her body and she could feel herself about to slip below the haze of want. 

“Pansy,” Hermione groaned, talking as Pansy nipped at her throat, her jaw. “They’re at the door,” she laughed.

“Not yet,” Pansy protested, her hold still tight. 

“We’re literally coming in,” Ginny shouted from behind the closed door, “that portkey is not leaving without us!”

Pansy sighed as her tongue laved at the hollow below Hermione’s ear, fingers gently digging into Hermione’s hips before she let her go. Hermione tried to still her breathing as she smoothed her hands over her dress, heavy-lidded eyes flicking towards Pansy. Pansy grinned and fell behind Hermione as she let Ginny and Luna inside.

“Here it is,” Luna announced, holding out an unremarkable comb while Ginny eyed the two of them. As Hermione reached forward towards the comb that would take the group to the remote location in the south of France for Harry and Draco’s wedding, her gaze met Pansy’s. She stared at her flushed cheeks, the taste of her still lingering in her mouth. She wondered absently over the hum of the portkey if perhaps they would be next.


End file.
